


Picking Up What You're Laying Down

by verbaepulchellae



Series: Hip To It [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: A little bit of Power Exchange, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety, Blow Jobs, Casual Sex, Cuddling, Cunnilingus, Delayed Orgasm, Dirty Talk, Drinking, F/M, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Minor Octavia Blake/Lincoln, Miscommunication, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Sex Toys, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-05-13 03:42:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 119,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5693284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbaepulchellae/pseuds/verbaepulchellae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh,” Raven says, looking up from the floor. “Clarke does casual. Bellamy, you haven’t seen her after a break up. Once she’s over moping about it, she’s a sex fiend.” </p><p> <br/>Or: In which Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake can both handle having a casual fling. Really.<br/></p><div class="center">
  <p>--</p>
  <div class="center">
    <p><br/>Winner of Best Smutty Fiction for the 2016 Bellarke Fanfiction Awards!</p>
  </div>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. August

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 
> 
> This fic now also has an AMAZING playlist made by the one and only mego42/ms_scarlet and can be listened to over [here! ](https://open.spotify.com/user/megmo42/playlist/3125wgQ0qomBx5laskMKQS)
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you so much for everyone who Nominated and voted for Picking Up What You're Laying Down in the 2016 Bellarke Fanfiction Awards. This was a huge labor of love, and I'm just so honored and so moved that so many of you liked it!

This is how it ends. Clarke sits at the foot of her bed and picks up her phone. She puts it down again. Raven would tell her to talk to Bellamy in person. Be honest, she would say, ask him if he feels the same. Take a chance. But she can’t ask Raven. She only has their guidelines and Octavia’s laughter and Bellamy’s body and her own history of spectacularly fucking things up to go on. She picks up her phone and dials his number.

He picks up on the second ring and her hammering heart only speeds up. “Clarke, hey.” It’s still early in the morning, well it’s 9 am, but that’s early by Bellamy’s standards. His voice is still a little rough.

“Hey. I need to talk to you,” Clarke says, closing her eyes.

“Yeah? Uh, yeah I mean, I kinda… want me to come over? Or, we could meet at Dropship? Murphy says they have brunch now, we could-“

“I cant-“ Clarke takes a breath and shakes her head. She can’t do this in person. If she’s going to get through this with any dignity in tact, it has to be on the phone. If he sees her face, he’ll know how deep this goes. “Sorry, I just, listen. Bellamy, when we got into this, we had our guidelines, right? No feelings, no attachment?” She sounds idiotic, she thinks. 

“Clarke-“

“And… it’s just, now there are… feelings…” To say, _I love you_ , to say _I want to be with you and it’s killing me_ is too much. The thought of laying it all out there, the thought of him knowing how deep she’s in makes her mouth dry and her stomach clench painfully tight.

“You mean… oh,” Bellamy says. She winces.

“And you were pretty clear on where you stand,” Clark says, pushing herself to continue, “So I just don’t think I can keep doing this. I can’t keep this up, you know? Can we… can we just go back to being friends again?”

There’s a long silence on the other end. And then, “Really? So that’s it. You’re out, just like that?”

It has to be like that, she thinks a little desperately. She has to be out before this gets out of hand. 

She can’t keep waking up to Bellamy’s smell, his messy hair and grumpy morning tirades when he stubs his toe on the doorsill and swears at her coffee maker. The way he drinks beer when they all hang out at Dropship Brewery and he makes eye contact with her and smirks when he catches her eyeing him. How she feels his eyes linger on her body when she dances with Raven at TonDC. The way he pulls her hair and fucks her until she can’t catch her breath. 

The worst of it is that none of it scares her. That’s what is truly terrifying. It’s so easy and if she doesn’t end it now, on her terms, then when he does… when he does it’s going to be so much worse. Better he knows that she can manage her side of things and keep a friendship, than have him pull away when he realizes how much more she wants. 

“Yeah, I mean,” Clarke says, curling her fingers into her thigh to keep her voice light, “It doesn’t make sense to keep going when we want different things, right? We can just, I mean, we can just call it now. No harm, no foul, right?”

There’s another silence and then Bellamy laughs, low and kind of mean. “Right, so going back to being just friends is going to make us all good? Those feelings are just going to disappear?” 

“It’s just a crush, Bellamy. I won’t… it’s not going to be that hard to get over.” Bellamy makes a disbelieving noise and Clarke feels her temper flare. She didn’t think, when she played it out over and over in her mind the night before, in the shower this morning, that this was going to be his reaction. “I’ll just fuck someone else,” she snaps, “and problem solved. We’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, fine,” Bellamy snaps back, “whatever the hell you want.” The call ends abruptly and Clarke drops her phone on the comforter next her. She puts her head in her hands and feels sorry for herself for the time it takes to count to ten. Then she gets up and goes to work. 

* * *

This is how it starts. Clarke is six weeks out of her latest failed (“disastrous, terrifying, nuclear explosion of horrific-“) fling. She’s tipsy, one might say ‘drunk’ even, and sprawled on her stomach across Octavia’ ratty couch in her small apartment. Raven is perched on the arm of the sofa, being completely unsympathetic. 

“You don’t understand,” Clarke whines, “I like, really… really miss sex.”

Octavia snorts from the floor where she’s sprawled on her back. She and Clarke have matched each other drink for shitty drink of Svedka and orange juice. “I don’t even remember what that’s like.”

“Fuck you,” Clarke moans, “Fuck you and your stupid, happy relationship with your ridiculously hot boyfriend.”

“It’s not Octavia’s fault she’s got the face of baby deer and the sexual drive of a nympho,” Raven supplies helpfully. Raven who has out drunk them both is still decidedly the most composed of their trio.

“Actually,” Octavia starts grinning up at the ceiling, “There was that one time, like two months ago, when Bellamy got locked out for the weekend and he had to crash here. We couldn’t have sex for like, 72 hours.”

Raven sits on Clarke to keep her from rolling off the couch to grapple with Octavia who’s given over to an uncontrollable fit of giggling. 

“Poor baby,” Raven coos at Clarke and pokes her in the cheek. “We should get you laid. What about…. Murphy?” 

Clarke groans into her couch cushion as Octavia’s giggling redoubles. 

“I love you, Raven, but I really, really hate you.”

“What? Come one,” Raven says innocently, “he’s like, very pretty. Have you seen his lips? Or when he pulls his hair back? Pretty.”

“I don’t think either of you have enough alcohol to get me drunk enough to ever, ever think that would be a good idea.” Clarke turns on her side, making Raven slide backwards, leaving only her legs slung over Clarke’s hips. “ ‘Sides, I like my girls pretty. I like my guys built.”

“Finn was pretty, kinda,” Octavia pipes up, “Especially when his hair was longer.”

“That was before Clarke figured out she also liked girls, though,” Raven says, poking Clarke’s cheek again.

“Not true, just neither of you was pretty enough to go for over Finn.”

She gets joyfully beaten by throw pillows for the next minute until they hear Octavia’s front door open and the raucous noise of their friends. Clear through the chorus of bickering and tipsy jostling is Lincoln’s laugh. Abandoning her pillow on Clarke’s face, Octavia leaps up and bounds out of the room. Clarke flips over onto her back, still beneath Raven’s legs, and grabs Raven’s hand happily. 

“I was just kidding,” she promises her, “You’re prettier than Finn.” 

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear.” Raven launches herself sideways along the couch and smacks a kiss to Clarke’s cheek. “Let’s play a game. First person through that door is who you hook up with tonight, even-“

“Not if it’s Murphy.”

“Even if it’s Murphy.”

It’s not Murphy, although he is second in the room after Wick, who is clearly off limits and thus, Clarke contends in a brief, hushed argument with Raven, nixes the whole game. 

“Well, well, ladies,” Murphy drawls, as he smirks at them on the couch, “don’t let us interrupt. If you need a third though, or a fifth hand, or hell, a first dick, I’m always ready and willing.” 

All the throw pillows are hurled in his direction. Unbothered, he flops down in Octavia’s old, bright pink beanbag chair and pops open a beer from his six pack with his lighter.

Wick perches himself on the couch arm by the their feet as Jasper, Monty and Monroe come tumbling through the doorway, talking too loudly. Miller follows them in, cheerfully drunk but too cool to join in the scuffle for loose pillows to sit on. Bellamy is last in the room, already glowering. Clarke would bet that Lincoln and Octavia lingering unnecessarily long in the hall has something to do with it. 

“Clarke and Raven always hog the couch,” Jasper complains good-naturedly, patting Clarke on the head. “What if the rest of us wanted to chance to catch bedbugs?”

“Cause the Princess always gets her way. And that couch doesn’t have bedbugs,” Bellamy adds, affronted, “it came from a very respectable furniture store. But if you really want the couch there are ways of getting it.” Bellamy promptly sits down, quite heavily, on Clarke and Raven. 

Octavia and Lincoln chose that moment to come rejoin the group and Octavia laughs as Raven struggles out from under Bellamy’s weight and relocates to the floor between Wick’s feet. “He used to do that all the time,” Octavia tells Clarke in a loud whisper, “when I was five, it was how he got his turn in that.” She points to the pink beanbag where Monty and Monroe have wedged themselves in next to Murphy. “The trick is to hold your ground, no matter how many wet willies he threatens or how much tickling.”

“Giving away all my secrets, O,” Bellamy says lazily, but has to raise his voice because Miller has put on Beyoncé and Octavia, easily distracted, has dragged Jasper to dance with her to Flawless. Bellamy looks down at Clarke instead and smirks. “You won’t tell anyone though, will you?”

“I dunno Bellamy, a ten year old boy who wanted a turn to sit in his sisters pink beanbag chair? Sounds like great black mail material. What are you offering me?”

“Whatever the hell you want,” Bellamy says generously, “I have a reputation to protect.” The room around them has filled with their friends’ buzzed chatter. Lincoln has brought in more beer from the kitchen and Murphy has rolled a joint, which he’s sharing with minimal grumbling. Clarke feels something bright and happy in her chest, surrounded by people she loves and who love her in return. It’s easy to look up at Bellamy in that moment and be warmed by his fond expression. 

“I’ll settle for you getting off of me. And more alcohol.” She makes grabby hands at him until he snags two of Lincoln’s beers and obliges. He does make her sit up so he and Miller can sit on the couch with her. Clarke grumbles at that, but when he hands her one beer and clinks his against it, she accepts it as a peace offering for encroaching on her territory. 

“Wet willies and tickling aside, beer and, yeah,” Clarke says as she takes the proffered joint from Bellamy. “Beer and weed are pretty good persuasion tactics.”

“Princess, I have persuasion tactics you can’t imagine,” Bellamy says with a lazy smile. Lincoln, leaning against the couch next to her looks up at Clarke with a somber expression.

“It’s true. The first time Octavia introduced us, Bellamy took me aside for a beer. I’m a changed man after that night,” he says with mock sincerity. “I will never, ever again consider taking Octavia’s feelings lightly.”

“Like you ever did.” Miller rolls his eyes. “Have you even noticed other women exist since you met Octavia?”

“Other women exist?” Lincoln asks innocently.

“Damn right they don’t. Not for you anyway,” Bellamy says. He might be only half kidding; if Octavia’s stories of trying to date as a teenager are anything to go by, Bellamy is fiercely protective as an older brother. Then again, Octavia is just as fierce about Bellamy, if not more so.

“So TonDC tonight?” Monroe asks loudly. She’s managed to push both Monty and Murphy off the beanbag and is sprawled happily nursing her beer. “I want to dance.”

“Yeah but no one wants to see that,” Murphy says from where he’s relocated against the wall. Monroe kicks at his face, Murphy grabs her foot and smirks, which quickly turns to a scowl when she manages to bump his beer with her toe and spill it on him.

“I want to dance,” Monroe repeats.

There’re a few minutes of loud debate about whether it should be TonDC or Dropship Brewery, a hotly contested topic in their group for which has the best Friday scene. Clarke notes that Miller stays quiet until Monty mentions that he hasn’t been to TonDC in a while, and then adds his support for the club.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Raven interrupts, “Who’s bartending at TonDC tonight?”

There’s a collective groan. “Clarke, why do your exes have to ruin all the good spots?” Octavia moans as she flops dramatically back into Lincoln’s lap. “I can’t lose TonDC too, not after the Bunker.”

“Hey, we aren’t giving up TonDC just because Lexa works there,” Clarke says.

“She’ll poison your drink,” Jasper muses.

“Probably get security to throw you out,” Monty adds.

“It wasn’t that bad of a break up,” Clarke says, exasperated.

“Yes it was,” her friends chorus. 

Clarke shakes her head. “Well, I don’t care where we go. If Lexa has an issue, that’s on her.” She gets a few raised eyebrows, but then Lincoln helpfully changes the subject.

“So, messy break up?” Bellamy asks quietly, once everyone else has moved on and is laughing at Lincoln’s mimicry of his friends.

“Well… it could have gone better. Much better,” Clarke admits, “but you can’t deny we had passion.”

Bellamy chuckles and stretches, flexing his hands out in front of him. “That’s why I absolutely do not do relationships. I have enough drama by being related to Octavia to deal with anymore.” Octavia who isn’t really listening to them, but has the little sister hyperawareness to know she’s being dragged, slaps at Bellamy’s legs distractedly. “I would recommend the casual scene if you ever get burnt out on relationships.”

“Oh,” Raven says, looking up from the floor. “Clarke does casual. Bellamy, you haven’t seen her after a break up. Once she’s over moping about it, she’s a sex fiend.” Raven grins at Clarke. “Should have seen her after we broke up with Finn, she-“

“Excuse me, ‘we’?” Bellamy laughs.

“It’s not that complicated,” Clarke jumps in, “Finn dates Raven. Finn cheats on Raven with me. Raven and I meet randomly out one night. Raven and I dump his sorry ass. Raven and I become best friends.” They high five dramatically across Miller and Bellamy.

“And me.” Octavia had heard that. “I’m also a best friend.”

“And me,” Murphy shouts across the room because he can’t mind his own business. 

Bellamy shakes his head. “This is what I’m talking about, Drama.”

In the end, the group consensus is TonDC, but it takes them about two hours to reach the decision. In that time, Miller goes on a beer run, dragging Murphy along to help pay. Lincoln breaks out his own weed, and Clarke decides her friends need snacks if they’re going to even make it out in one piece. She uncurls her legs from the couch and stands precariously, trying not to step on any of her friends sprawled across the floor. 

Bellamy finds her in the kitchen on his way back from the bathroom. “Hey,” Bellamy says with a smile as he leans against the doorframe, “What are you making?”

Clarke’s chopping up the tomatoes as she looks over her shoulder and smiles in return. “Nachos. Here.” She nods at the box cheese grater she had found in Octavia’s cupboard. “I think Octavia has some cheddar in the fridge.”

Bellamy grabs the cheese and joins her at the counter. He starts to grate the cheese through the zester and Clarke tsks at him. “Have you never made Nachos before?” She says in mock exasperation. “Grate it through the larger holes, you heathen.”

“Alright, alright, Princess,” Bellamy grumbles. “Man, you do a girl a favor, grate her some cheese, and what do you get?”

“Some credit for making awesome nachos. I know you thrive on attention.”

“I’ll settle for no less than eighty-percent of the credit.”

Clarke snorts. “I was thinking more around five-percent.” Bellamy laughs. Clarke sets aside the diced tomatoes and starts on the onions. Bellamy finishes grating the cheese but stays, turning to lean his hip on the counter and watch as she chops. Clarke glances at him, “What?”

Bellamy shrugs. “What else can I do?” 

Clarke lets him chop the lettuce and even sauté the ground beef she had brought over. He burns it a little and she laughs at him. It’s easy being around him. She and Bellamy haven’t spent that much time together. She’s friends with him mostly because of Octavia, but he’s not someone she’s ever sought out. Bellamy is loud, often opinionated to the point of being argumentative and, at times, a bully. But she’s also seen how fiercely he loves Octavia and his easy way he has with the people in his life he’s close to. Most of Clarke’s interactions with Bellamy have been arguing some obscure point or being given the kid sister treatment he drops on her and Octavia when he’s feeling superior. 

But one on one, she finds him relaxed. He can’t cook for shit, but he makes her laugh with his attempts and his self-deprecating humor. He finally surrenders the supervision of the meat to Clarke and busies himself with emptying a bag of chips on a tray and dumping tomatoes and onions and cheese on top. “I’m going to claim at least fifty-percent credit for these nachos,” He informs Clarke as she puts the tray in the oven. “Anything less, and I would have no self-respect.”

“I’ll let you have that. Although I now know to never to let you near a cheese grater or meat again.”

“Hey, we all gotta learn somewhere.”

“You’re twenty-eight, Bellamy. How have you made this long without learning how to cook?”

“I can do a mean spaghetti,” Bellamy says. “And now I can add nachos to the list.”

“We are all so proud of you,” Clarke deadpans and enjoys his lifted eyebrow.

“TonDC should be interesting tonight.” Bellamy changes the topic as they lean against the stove, snacking on some of the unused chips. “I hear it’s a good DJ.”

“Yeah, should be good. I think I’m probably going to bail though. Lexa and all that.”

“I thought you said you were cool going there.” Bellamy frowns at her and she makes face. 

“Yeah, I am in theory. But if I go tonight I’m going end up hooking up with someone, and I’m not ready to do that in front her. Feels a bit desperate. And Monty’s right, she might actually have security throw me out. As much as I’d like to get laid…” she trails off at Bellamy’s smirk, shrugs because she’s not ashamed that she’s thirsty.

“There have to be other ways to get laid than TonDC.”

She squints at him. She doesn’t think he’s necessarily hitting on her, but then again she’s drunk and a little stoned, and Bellamy is, unfortunately, really hot. It’s not something she’s ever let herself consider before, since Octavia is one of her closest friends, and Raven had hooked up with him as a rebound after Finn. But here Bellamy is, with his messy curls and defined forearms and his unfairly rough voice and a part of Clarke’s brain just thinks, fuck it. “Well, if you have any suggestions, I’m happy to hear them.” She cocks her head back so she’s looking up at him and lifts an eyebrow when he meets her gaze. 

She sees him catch on to what she’s offering and his eyes spark with interest. “I can think of a few,” he says, low and quiet. He reaches out and settles his hand on her lower back, large and warm. He leans forward, and pulls her to meet him halfway, his mouth hot and hungry, and he cups her neck, his thumb stroking her jaw. He kisses like he talks: rough and demanding but not without finesse. She swipes her tongue against his lip, and feels it in her stomach when he gives her a soft growl in response. 

He bites her lip as he pulls away and taps his thumb against her cheek thoughtfully. “Damn, Princess,” he rumbles at her and the hand on her back slides down and squeezes her ass. She smirks at him and licks her bottom lip for show. His eyes track the movement and that snap back to hers, heated. “I’m going to take good care of you,” he promises hotly. “I’m going to make you scream.” 

“Big talk,” Clarke says, her own voice rough. He chuckles and slaps her ass, pulling back. 

“Nachos first, though.”

Clarke makes her excuses to Raven and Octavia as their friends finally drag themselves off the couch and the floor and pull on their shoes. “I’ll probably just go home and smoke a bowl, maybe Netflix and chill myself.”

“That’s real,” Raven says. “Lexa can go fuck herself. “

Clarke doesn’t hear what Bellamy says, but they linger together as their friends pile into two ubers, too boisterous to notice that normally Clarke would head toward the metro station. Once they’re gone, Bellamy grabs the collar of her flannel and pulls her against his chest, kissing her again. “Come on,” he says, when he let’s her up for air, “I’m just a few blocks away.”

Bellamy’s apartment is on the third floor, and Clarke follows him up the old stairs. It’s a small apartment, the living room and kitchen basically one room, with a little hall leading off to what Clarke assumes is his bedroom.

As she leans over to unlace her docs, Bellamy steps up behind her, hands gripping her hips. He digs his thumbs into the dimples of her back and Clarke presses back against him. She can feel the outline of his dick through his jeans, hard and warm even though their layers of denim and stretchy spandex. Bellamy gives a soft huff and squeezes her hips, “Want a drink?” He asks into her neck as she stands back up and settles against his chest. “Water? Beer?”

She turns against him and rests her hands on his forearms. He flexes them with a smirk when she tightens her grip on them. “Nah,” she says, “I’m good.”

They make out against the wall for a while. Bellamy undoes the few buttons her flannel and pushes it off her shoulders and then leans in and bites roughly at her neck. “You smell good,” he growls as he nips at her ear and Clarke tips her head back to give him a better angle. She fists one hand in his hair to keep him close, pulls at his curls when he trails his teeth across her collarbone, and scratches her nails down his back with the other. He presses closer, his left hand still at her hip, keeping her anchored against the wall, his right slipping under her shirt to tease against the waist band of her leggings. Her stomach jumps at the light touch of his fingers and she pulls his hair hard.

“Easy, Clarke, I got you.” Bellamy pulls back, but only enough to get his hands under her ass and lift her up against the wall before he’s pressing back in again. She wraps her legs around his hips and God, she can feel him hard against her clit. “Fuck,” she grits out and arches into his body, shifting her hips to get more friction, “Fuck, Bellamy.” She can feel the bunching of his muscles in his shoulders and its hot, its so hot. 

“That’s right, baby, that’s right,” Bellamy traps her chin in his hand and kisses her roughly, angling his hips forward for her to better rub against. He squeezes her ass rhythmically. “Damn, Clarke. You’re hungry for it, aren’t you?” He bites her lip, and tugs on it, mean. “Look at you, I’ve hardly touched you and you’re already wrecked.” He’s smug about it, and kisses her again, slipping his tongue into her mouth and mimicking the rhythm of their bodies. “What did I tell you, huh?” He asks, pulling back just enough to speak the words against her mouth, “What did I promise you?”

“That you were going to take good care of me,” Clarke tells him without any shyness. She arches into him again and squeezes her legs, getting herself as close as she can to his body. “That you were going to make me scream.” 

“Damn right I am,” Bellamy says and kisses her again. 

He leans his full weight into her and presses her heavily into the wall. Bracing her on his thighs, he slides his left hand up to cup her tits. “Mm, you are so fucking hot, Princess, you’re drivin’ me crazy here.” His thumbnail finds her nipple through her bra and she gasps at the sensation of it. 

“Bellamy,” she starts, but his mouth is back on her own, even as he untangles from her legs and eases her back into the floor. 

“What do you want? Tell me what you want, Clarke.”

She knocks her head back against the wall and trails her hands down to tug at the hem of his shirt. He obligingly strips it off and then leans back into her, bracketing her against the wall with his arms. He raises an eyebrow, waiting.

“I think,” Clarke muses, running her hand down his chest to scratch lightly at the thick thatch of his happy trail, “I think I’d really like to suck your cock.”

“Huh,” Bellamy chuckles. He runs his thumb over her bottom lip and then pushes it down just enough to open her mouth as he leans in to kiss her again. It’s hot and filthy and Clarke bites at him. “Alright,” he says against her mouth and he reaches down to pop open the button fly on his jeans. He braces himself again against the wall and smirks. “Lets see what you’ve got, Princess.”

Clarke matches his smirk and slides her hand down over his tight abs and into his boxers. She wraps her hand around him and squeezes. He’s smooth and furnace-hot against her palm. His eyes go dark as she touches him with teasing strokes, tracing her thumb around the head of his cock and smearing the precum at the tip. “You want my mouth on you?” She grabs his hair again and angles his head so she can nip at his neck. 

“You’re fucking right I do,” Bellamy growls and thrusts into her hand. She curls her hand around the base of his cock and gives him a firm stroke up his shaft. She settles comfortably on her knees and tugs his jeans and boxers down just enough to free him. His cock is gorgeous, long and thick and blushing red at the tip. She gives him two consecutive strokes with both her hands, and then settles one hand at the base and the other on his hip. She glances up at him and see’s him braced over her, head resting against his bicep so he can watch. 

Clarke leans forward and takes the head into her mouth. He’s salty and earthy and it makes her moan. She’s forgotten how much she loves giving head. She pulls back, sucking as she goes so he pops wetly out of her mouth. “Fuck,” he whispers above her, “that’s so fucking hot.” She pushes his cock up against his stomach and licks up the entire shaft of it, curls her tongue around the head and then flicks rapidly at the frenulum. He makes a noise and grips a hand in her hair, not pushing, but tight enough to sting sweetly. Clarke takes him back into her mouth and works her way down toward the base. He’s big and it’s been a while since she’s done this, but the stretch of her jaw and the heavy slide of him against her tongue gets her hot. 

She takes him deeper as the combination of her spit and his precum makes the slide easier. His hand tightens in her hair and she gives him a long, slow suck as she pulls back and then plunges forward again, his cockhead hitting the back of her throat. She settles into the rhythm of it, the mindless, easy bob and twist of her head, her fist working the base of his cock and slipping down to cup his balls. She’s so wet from this alone and she lets go of his hip to rub at her clit through her leggings. 

“Aw, fuck,” Bellamy exhales sharply and his hips snap forward. “Fuck, Clarke, yeah. You fucking love this, don’t you?”

She hums in agreement and tips her head back, so his next thrust slides his dick down her throat. She chokes a bit, pulling back but giving him an extra hard suck to make up for it, and laves her tongue over and over the head of his cock. 

“Un-fucking-believable,” Bellamy says, hoarse. “Get the hell up here.” He steps back, his dick popping out of Clarke’s mouth and pulls her up roughly. He pulls off her shirt and kisses her, open mouthed and messy and she moans into it. He undoes her bra with alarming dexterity and grabs at her tits, cupping them. He works his thumbs over her nipples, flicking the hard, tight peaks of them. The feeling is sweet and hot and lights up her body so that Clarke gasps and gasps against Bellamy’s lips, hardly able to kiss him back. 

“Yeah, I know,” Bellamy tells her, smug. “I know that feels good.” His cock slides against her stomach and Clarke palms it there, rubbing it between her hand and her soft belly and Bellamy breaths out a soft curse. 

“What am I going to do with you?” He wonders, letting go of one of her tits so he can fist his hand in her hair and pull her head back. “I think,” he tells her, trailing his other hand down over her stomach and the front of her leggings, tracing his fingers along the seam of her, “I think I’m going to eat you out, until you’re begging for it, until you can’t stand it. And then,” he says, giving her hair another little tug. “I’m going to fuck you.”

“Yeah, yeah, please,” Clarke moans, “yeah, I want that.”

“I know you do. C’mon.” He guides her bodily down the hall to his room, sparse but for his bureau and neatly made bed, and pushes her to sprawl out on the bed. He kneels next to her, placing a hand on her hip to keep her still and leans over to turn on the bedside lamp and open the drawer of the table. He pulls out lube and a few condoms and leaves them within reaching distance. He stands back up then, and grabs the stretchy band of her leggings and pulls them off, and then pulls off his jeans and boxers as well. 

Clarke props herself up on her elbows and gets a good look at him, tall and well built and fucking hot as hell. He grins at her and grabs her thighs, pulling her so that her butt ends up right at the edge of his bed. “Cute,” he teases as he fingers the elastic of her simple boy shorts, and then turns his hand so his fingers are pressed up against the heat of her. “God, you’re so wet.” He leans over her and kisses her again, tongue flicking against her mouth like a promise. “Ready for me to lick your cunt, Princess?”

“If you’d stop talking and just get on with it, “ Clarke grumbles.

Bellamy tweaks her nipple for it, and then slides her underwear down her legs. He crouches down on the floor and runs his palms up her thighs, pushing them further apart. He tugs lightly on her public hair and then parts her outer lips with his thumbs. Clarke feels herself flush in spite of herself, and wriggles her hips in encouragement. “I know, I know, I’m getting there,” Bellamy soothes her absentmindedly and slides his thumb to circle her clit, bearing down with each turn to increase the pressure. “There you go,” he says as her breath catches. “That feels good, doesn’t it?” She hums in agreement.

His traces his thumb down and dips it inside her and then rubs her labia gently and Clarke lets out a frustrated noise. “Bellamy.”

He slaps her thigh, sudden and sharp, and presses his thumb back on her clit. And then, finally, he leans forward and licks her, flattening his tongue out against her and flicking it upward to just brush her clit as he takes his thumb away. He makes a hot, satisfied sound and repeats the motion. Clarke reaches down and grips his arm where he’s anchored it across her hips. 

He licks at her hungrily, dipping his tongue inside her, just the tip teasingly, sucking first one and then the other of her labia until, finally, finally, settling his mouth on her clit. He traps it between his lips and flicks it quick and hot and dirty with his tongue. 

“Fuck, Bellamy, fuck,” Clarke grits out. He sucks hard and then shakes his head against her with a growl and Clarke bucks up, only to be restrained by his arm. Bellamy presses his face closer against her, slipping down to fuck his tongue inside her in short, hot jabs, his nose bumping against her clit. He’s insatiable, his tongue skilled and quick as he alternates between laving it slow and generous against her clit and then flicking it punishingly fast. Clarke hears herself moan, shocked and high and Bellamy groans into her, the vibrations making her shudder. 

“Touch your tits,” Bellamy tells her, rubbing her clit with his thumb again as he slips two fingers inside her, rotating them and then crooking them towards him. Clarke gasps and sinks her nails into his arm, still holding her down on the comforter. “Uh-uh,” Bellamy says, grinding his fingers up and rubbing on her sweet and intense. “Show me how you like it, Clarke. Give those pretty tits some love for me.”

Clarke manages to let go of the sheets and cups her breast. She pinches her nipple and makes a noise she doesn’t recognize at the combined sensation of Bellamy’s mouth and fingers. “Good girl,” Bellamy tells her, low and fond. “That’s right Clarke.” He sucks kisses into her thigh as he watches her shake on the bed. “Mm, you’re so tight, baby. So hot. Do you want another one?”

Clarke nods, moans for it as he draws his fingers back slow and thrusts back in with three. She feels full and on edge, and when Bellamy returns his tongue to her clit, bearing down and massaging, Clarke gasps and gasps and grips his arm hard. 

“Yeah? Oh yeah,” Bellamy growls, “Yeah, I’m going to make you come.” He fucks her hard and fast with his fingers and flicks light and teasing at her clit. “Come on, Princess, I want to see it. Let me see you come” He grinds up just right with his fingers and sucks sweetly on her clit and Clarke is gone. 

She thinks she actually shouts as her body is wracked by her orgasm, hot and pulsing and liquefying as it roars through her body, leaving her breathless and shaking. Bellamy’s fingers slow in her, just stroking inside her. He nuzzles at her, tracing his tongue along her labia and rubbing at her thigh. “So fucking hot,” he tells her, returning his tongue to her clit, gentle. “You taste unbelievable, Clarke.” He gives her kitten licks until she’s squirming away from him, oversensitive and giggling. She swats at him, and he lets up, surging up from the floor to kiss her and press her down into the bed. 

She licks her taste from his lips and tangles her fingers in his curls again and tugs. He grins against her mouth and bites at her playfully, tugging on her hair right back. His dick is heavy and hard against her hip as he gives a small thrust against her, and suddenly she aches for him. 

“You have to,” she starts, reaching for the condoms, “Bellamy, come one, you have to fuck me.”

“Bossy,” Bellamy informs her, pushing up on his arms to hover over her in push-up position so her can roll the condom down onto him. She squeezes him once she’s done and shimmies up the bed. “I’m going to make you come again,” Bellamy tells her, lining his cock up and rubbing it against her. “I’m going to make you come on my cock.”

He pulls her leg up and rests her ankle on his shoulder, and then he’s sliding into her, thicker and longer than his fingers and Clarke grabs at his hips desperately, overwhelmed. “Aw, yeah,” Bellamy mutters, “You feel so fucking good on my dick. You feel that? You feel how good that is?”

“Come on, Bellamy,” Clarke moans a little desperately, “Come on and fuck me.” 

Bellamy rocks back on his knees and gives her a few slow thrusts to let her adjust and then he snaps his hips forward and Clarke cries out. Bellamy groans with her and starts to fuck her for real, hard and fast and deep. It feels so good, Clarke scrapes her nails down his chest and Bellamy moans. He pulls back and thrusts shallow and teasing. Clarke makes a frustrated noise and pushes her hips up towards him, trying to get him deeper, but he pins her down on the bed and keeps the pace slow and easy. 

“Bellamy, please,” Clarke gasps, “please,”

“You’re ok, you’re ok,” Bellamy tells her, grinding up inside her and making her moan high and desperate. “Like that?” He changes the angle slightly and Clarke claws at him, her voice ragged, caught on her words telling him there, there. “Yeah, right there, huh? Right there, I got you.” He presses Clarke’s hips down hard and fucks her right. He grabs her tits and squeezes, trails his fingers up her thigh, drops his thumb and rubs on her clit. “Oh fuck, Clarke.”

Clarke pulls him down on top of her, dragging her nails down his back in a scorching line and Bellamy jerks against her, groaning. “Yeah, baby,” he bites at her neck, “yeah baby, you got it.” She’s so close again and she grinds her clit up against his thumb, still turning circles against it. He fists his hand in her hair and pulls her head back, closing his teeth on her collarbone and Clarke loses it, gasping and crying out as her body clenches down on Bellamy’s dick. “Fucking Christ,” Bellamy swears, thrusting a few more times and then groaning low as he comes, hips jerking helplessly against her.

He drops his head to her shoulder, his forehead sweaty. Clarke runs her hands down his back, brushing his tailbone and his ass and he twitches against her, ticklish. He hums against her, low and pleased and lifts his head enough to kiss her, full and deep and sated. His hand drifts to her breast and squeezes it lazily. “Feel good?” He asks her.

“Feel great,” she tells him. She wiggles under him as he starts to soften and he makes a sympathetic noise and pulls out of her slow. “Your ego probably doesn’t need me to tell you this, but that was like, eight out of ten in terms of awesome sex. Eight point five.”

Bellamy laughs at that, tying of the condom and chucking it in the direction of his trash bin. He settles back down on his side next to her and runs his hand down from her neck, between her breasts, to settle low on her stomach. He squeezes her stomach gently. “I’ll take it. You sound awesome when you come.”

Clarke laughs, a little self-consciously. “No one’s told me that before.”

“No? Oh. Well, you do,” Bellamy says, “it’s hot as hell.”

“You talk to much,” she tells him but smiles all the same and he returns it, relaxed and easy. “This was definitely better than TonDC.”

“Definitely better,” he repeats and squeezes her again. “You can stay, if you want,” he offers as he stifles a yawn. “O says you live way across town.”

“It’s not that late,” Clarke says, glancing at the digital clock Bellamy keeps on his bedside table. “I always sleep better in my own bed.”

“Fair enough. I only have instant coffee anyway, and it’s shitty as hell.” Bellamy helps her retrieve her clothes from around her apartment and hands her a glass of water without comment while she’s pulling up Uber on her phone. He slings on his jeans and a hoodie and walks her out, waits with her on the curb until the Uber comes. They talk about Octavia and Lincoln and whether Miller has a thing for Monty, if Monty has a thing for Miller, and Bellamy’s hand rests comfortably on her lower back. He gives her a chaste kiss when her uber pulls up and leans on the door while she gets it. “See you around,” he says.

“Probably Sunday, Octavia was talking about brunch,” Clarke says as she settles in. 

“Sounds like O,” Bellamy says and shuts the door for her.

They see each other at brunch and it’s easy, as if nothing happened. Bellamy sits down the table from her, arguing with Monroe about which kinds of pancakes are best. Octavia drinks too much coffee and talks quickly, loud and excited. Clarke glances up once from talking gender politics with Raven and meets Bellamy’s eyes. He gives her a small smile, private, hot, and then turns to talk to Miller. 

She texts him that evening, opening a new message. They’ve never texted each other outside of their running group message. 

_Blake_ , she writes.

_Princess._

She sends him her address and he shows up about an hour later, six pack in hand. He glances around her apartment, the open layout, the hardwood floors. “Nice place,” he says by way of greeting. 

They drink beer on the couch, Charmed on mute on Clarke’s tv. Bellamy drags her into his lap, kisses her and rubs her off, dirty and hot, his hand a heavy weight on her tailbone to keep her close. She gives him a hand job, and when she goes to get a tissue from the bathroom, he corners and goes down on her. He fucks her from behind up against the sink, holding her back against his chest so she can watch them in the mirror. He runs his mouth, low and teasing in her ear and she grips his hips, digging her nails into him. He leaves a bite mark on her shoulder, easy to hide under her clothes, but a dark purple and blue against her pale skin. 

The following weekend, they slip away from their friends at Dropship Brewery long enough for a quickie in the bathroom. Bellamy keeps his hand over her mouth, keeping her gasps quiet as he grinds into her, pressing her into the door of the stall. 

It’s nice, Clarke thinks after, satisfied and dancing with Raven and Octavia under the flashing lights. It’s easy in a way that she doesn’t really think about Bellamy except when he’s around or she wants to get laid. She doesn’t worry about who he’s with or if he’s thinking about her. He asks her about it though, next time she’s over at his, sharing a joint on his stoop. “You’re good with this?” he wonders, “You’re good with this just being what we do?”

Clarke takes a hit looks at him. “Yeah, I am,” she says.

“Ok. I’m just,” he shrugs and looks at her, the reality of his cliché amusingly apparent to him, “I’m just not really into dating and feelings right now.”

“Bellamy,” Clarke laughs, “have I asked you about dating and feelings? I’m good with what we’ve going on. No feelings, no strings, just sex.”

“Well, come on. Awesome sex.” Bellamy offers his hand for a low five, and she gives him one, giggling and high. 

“Working on that perfect score,” she agrees.

He puts his nose against her neck and gusts out a breath, hot, making her shiver. “Only one way to get there.” Upstairs, he sits her on his face and makes her come twice before she can get a hand on him.


	2. September

“Clarke has a secret,” Raven informs Octavia one morning over their Sunday brunch in early September when Clarke had been zoning out over her egg scramble. Octavia looks up from her bacon with immediate interest. 

“No, I don’t,” Clarke says, cupping her coffee in her palm and taking a sip. It’s black and the rush of flavor on her tongue soothes her under her Raven’s knowing smile. 

“Yes you do, you totally do,” Raven insists, spearing a potato on her fork and pointing accusingly at Clarke. “It’s been more than two months since Lexa and you’ve stopped whining about your lack of sex. You totally have a hook-up you’re keeping on the DL.” Octavia nods at this logic and narrows her eyes at Clarke.

“Spill.”

“I-“ Denying it would only make her friends push harder. Raven has a nose for secrets and Octavia is the most stubborn person she knows, which is probably why they ended up friends in the first place. “I guess.” Clarke says slowly. “It’s nothing serious.”

“Who is it?” Octavia pushes, reaching over and starting on Clarke’s unfinished bacon. Clarke steals half of it back from her and takes one of her mushrooms off her plate for payment. 

“Just this guy,” Clarke hedges. “He came into the shop.”

“Oh, so he likes art. I don’t know Clarke, your taste in artsy people is always a little iffy.”

Clarke shoots Raven an exasperated look. “I want to see a picture,” Octavia demands, reaching for Clarke’s phone. “What’s his name?”

“…Bill. And he doesn’t have Facebook.”

“Oh so you’ve checked,” Octavia says brightly. “You like him, Clarke.”

Raven rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. “You would date someone who didn’t have Facebook. Fucking hipsters.”

“You can’t insult my taste in men when we’ve both dated the same guy, Raven. And we’re not dating, it’s very casual.”

She sees Bellamy about once a week, sometimes twice. He mostly ends up at hers, since she’s in Foggy Bottom and he’ll come over late after he’s been working on his thesis, but there are nights after they’ve been hanging out at Octavia’s that she does end up his couch, his head between her legs and fingers working inside of her.

She takes her phone back from Octavia who’s messing around on it, aware that Bellamy’s texts aren’t all the far down in her recent contacts and she’d rather not explain why she’s texting him at all. She’s not sure why she doesn’t tell Raven and Octavia. Well, ok, she knows why she doesn’t tell Octavia: she gets weird about people hooking up with Bellamy (whenever Raven brings it up Octavia usually ends up with her hands over her ears loudly reciting the Constitution). But with Raven… honestly, admitting you’ve been fucking someone in your friend group pretty exclusively without being exclusive for over a month is just kind of strange. To say it out loud makes it sound like a bigger deal than it is. “Anyway, I don’t know how much longer it will go on.”

“Do we get to meet him?” Octavia asks, now playing with her own phone. Clarke gets a notification that Octavia liked one of her instagram posts and when she opens it, it’s a picture of her, looking annoyed over brunch with the caption “Pretending I don’t have a new fuckbuddy.” 

“Thanks, Octavia,” Clarke says, but leaves the picture up because it’s actually pretty good. “And no, it’s casual. I’m not subjugating anyone I’m not dating to either of you, you’d tear them apart.”

“Only if they’re worth tearing apart,” Octavia says with a shark like smile. 

It’s beautiful out when they finish their brunch. They spend the rest of their morning on 11th street, ducking into different stores and competing to see who can come up with the most mismatched outfit at H&M. Octavia insists on buying some new lingerie and drags both Raven and Clarke into her fitting room for their opinion. They end up back at Clarke’s late in the afternoon and Clarke rolls them a joint and cooks them dinner, their laughter lighting up her apartment. 

Aside from weekends, they don’t get see each other all that often during the week. With the arrival of September, Octavia’s lobbying firm schedules more meetings after the summer lull and Raven pours more of her focus into her start-up with Wick. Clarke’s gig at Lincoln’s art shop is part time and never too crazy, but the free clinic she works at has a few more shifts available, which she does pickup. They find a few evenings here and there, but they usually have to be carved out in advance.

So it’s a surprise when Clarke gets a text at four-thirty on the third Wednesday in September. She’s a little harried, just back from the clinic and feeling a bit grimy and exhausted. What she wants is to smoke, curl up on the couch and watch something stupid while she sketches. As she fights her phone out of her pocket, she’s a bit worried it’s her mom, texting her again about Harvard, reopening the conversation of her deferral caused rejection. After their first conversation, Clarke had gone to the Lincoln Memorial and sketched the tourists in broad strokes until her heartbeat slowed and her mind stopped playing the conversation over and over and over again. 

But when she looks at her phone, it’s Bellamy.

_Fucking undergrads._

Brief and succinct. Clarke rolls her eyes. _Tell me how you really feel_. She types back. There’s a long pause and Clarke wonders if he texted her by mistake. Bellamy doesn’t usually text unless he wants some which, hey, she can dig it. She drops her phone on the couch and changes out of her work clothes into old jeans and a sweater. When she comes back out into the living room, Bellamy is actually calling her. 

“How I really feel,” Bellamy says when she picks up, “is like fucking you through the nearest flat surface.” He’s speaking softly and from the buzz of background noise, Clarke would guess he’s in one of the academic buildings. 

“Oh yeah?” She asks, throat a bit dry. 

“Yeah,” Bellamy says and then chuckles. “But I honestly have no idea what your schedule is like. Are you even free right now? So I guess I’m just calling you. Hey Clarke.”

“This is a strange Hotline Bling,” Clarke laughs. “But hey. Having fun with the kids?”

“More like I have a crap load of essays to grade and if I have one more eighteen year old ask if there’s anything… anything they can do for extra credit, I’m going to resort to violence. It’s not even midterms yet,” he whines. 

“You can’t underestimate that freshman thirst,” Clarke teases him as she flops down on the couch, her sketchpad propped on her knees. “Come on, didn’t you ever crush on your TA?”

“Nah, I had other things to worry about. So.” Clarke can hear the smile in his voice, “What are you up to?”

“I just got home actually. I was thinking of doing some sketching… but you could come over.”

“I can camp out nearby at a café. Want to text me when you’re free?”

“I mean… you could come over now, if you wanted. I make good coffee and you could get started on your essays,” Clarke offers even as she wonders why she’s inviting Bellamy over for non-sex reasons. They don’t spend time together when they’re not fucking. “And then you could fuck me wherever you wanted,” she tags on.

“Huh.” Bellamy says. “Well… I suppose your apartment is free of thirsty eighteen year olds. And quieter.”

“This is definitely a twenty-one and up kind of establishment,” Clarke affirms. 

“Alright, “ Bellamy agrees easily. “Yeah, ok. I’ll head on over.”

Clarke spends the next twenty minutes debating calling Bellamy back with some excuse to cancel. Bellamy is easy to be around when they’re hooking up and it’s never gotten weird between them in larger groups, but to share space while they’re both working on their own projects seems strangely intimate. Whatever, she tells herself, they’ll hook up at some point tonight- they’re just being efficient with their time. 

Bellamy shows up with his bag slung over his shoulder, slouching in jeans and his leather jacket. He gives her a smile, a little bit asshole, a little bit self-aware. “Princess,” he greets her.

“I’ll put on some coffee. The, um, the dining room table has good study vibes if you want to work there.” Bellamy follows the wave of her hand and sets his bag down with his back to the windows. He picks up the textbook she’s got stacked on top of her notes on the corner of the table and thumbs through it. “Reliving the glory days?” he asks her when she brings the promised coffee in. 

“Oh, no. I’m taking a post-bach class. Just trying it out,” she says with a shrug and sits across from him at the table, chin propped in her hand. Bellamy raises his eyebrows at her. “That’s what you do for fun, Princess?” 

“I’m thinking about grad school, maybe. Just trying to keep my options open.”

“What did you study?” Bellamy takes a sip of his coffee and then looks at it in surprise. “That’s not instant,” he says. “That is honest to god coffee.”

Clarke smiles, amused. “I’m a bit of a coffee snob,” she tells him. “My dad used to be really into coffee, I kind of picked it up from him.”

“This is way better than the coffee shop on campus.” He takes another sip and then, “You got milk and sugar?”

“Pleb,” Clarke snorts, which is really only fair given her nickname. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Bellamy says good-naturedly as she heads around the island counter of the kitchen to grab both. “You never answered my question.”

“What I studied?” Clarke puts the milk carton and sugar bowl down next to him and goes to get her sketchpad from the couch. “I double majored in premed and political science.”

“Huh,” Bellamy says as he scoops three spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee and pours enough milk to make it pale. “And on top of that you’re taking post-bach psych to ‘keep your options open’. I’m guessing there was some parental pressure in what you studied?” He glances pointedly around at the apartment and Clarke flushes.

“My mom,” Clarke admits. “She’s got a medical degree, used to be a doctor but now she’s working for this big medical lobbying firm. So, yeah, I guess. She’d like me to go to medical school.” 

“Huh, you’ve got it made, don’t you?” Bellamy says, a little edge to his voice and Clarke winces. She knows a bit from Octavia what her childhood was like: it was not the one of comfort that Clarke had been afforded. 

“I’m pretty lucky,” she agrees and doesn’t say anything else. 

“So, you’re parents rent this place for you?” Bellamy asks as he reaches down to pull out a stack of essays. 

“Not exactly. This was my dad’s place. When he… um, he left it to me when he died.”

“Oh.” She looks up to see Bellamy frowning at his essays. He looks up to meet her eyes and looks self-consciously apologetic. “I’m sorry, Clarke.”

“Thanks.” She opens her sketchpad, uncomfortable in the ensuing silence and traces the shape of Lexa’s smile from memory. 

“I, uh, I lost my mom too,” Bellamy offers after a minute. He’s back to frowning at his essays but when Clarke looks at him, his pen is still hovering at the top of the first page. “It’s tough, losing a parent.”

“Yeah.” Clarke’s throat aches and she swallows around it. 

Bellamy looks up and studies her face and then sighs. “I’m a dick,” he says. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have-“ he waves his hand to encompass the last few minutes. “There’s nothing wrong with having a family that has what yours has.”

“I’m sorry about your mom,” Clarke says. “Octavia told me you took on a lot. Must have been tough for you.”

“Oh, you know. My mom, she…” he trails off and makes a hand gesture that Clarke has seen Octavia make whenever she refers to her mom, sharp and dismissive, but on Bellamy it looks pained. “And, it’s been me and O since I was eighteen.”

“When I met Octavia freshman year,” Clarke says with a fond smile, remembering, “she talked about you all the time. How great you were, how she couldn’t wait to call you to tell you about what we were doing: she said you were her best friend.”

“Yeah?” Bellamy asks, looking pleased.

“All the time,” Clarke repeats and smiles at him. Bellamy’s smile is gentle on his mouth and he ducks his head as if he’s embarrassed. It’s strangely endearing, Clarke thinks suddenly, to see Bellamy, normally so brash and confident, delighted by something so small. It makes him look younger and a little dorky, especially the way he fidgets with his pen tapping on the table, covering his smile with his hand. 

“Well, me and O, we did alright,” he says. “Long as we have each other we don’t need much else.”

Clarke smiles and lets that sit in the air between them. She goes back to sketching, decidedly tearing out the page with Lexa’s mouth and dimples because that’s not who she needs to be thinking about. Bellamy grades his papers with minimal grumbling, sighing every now and then as he underlines poor wording. He reads aloud the worst of it to Clarke and she smiles as she sketches her hand splayed on the table in front of her. 

It’s easy, Clarke realizes with surprise, being around Bellamy. From the time she’s spent around him in larger groups, Clarke had assumed his demeanor would be much the same: over confident, demanding and loud. But as he relaxes around her, he’s different. His comments and stories are much less aggressive and she finds herself laughing at his humor. He chuckles are her own poor attempts at puns with minimal eye rolling. She switches from sketching to studying herself after a while and they lapse into an easy silence, just the scratch of pen on paper and pages turning to fill it.

When Clarke looks up again, it’s dark outside and her stomach growls. Bellamy’s tapping his pen in irritation on the table: he still has a decently sized stack of ungraded paper in front of him. 

“Want to break for dinner?” Clarke asks him even as she’s pushing her chair back. Bellamy checks the time in surprise.

“I’m getting old,” he says as he tosses the paper he’s in the middle of on the table and scrubs at his face. “My eyes hurt.”

“That’s because you’ve been squinting all afternoon,” Clarke can’t help lecturing him as she rounds the kitchen island and begins to open cabinets.

“Yeah, yeah I know,” Bellamy gripes, “you sound just like my sister. ‘Wear your glasses, Bellamy. Take care of your eyes, Bellamy.’”

“Well, she’s not wrong,” Clarke says dryly. She hears Bellamy get up from the table and he joins her, leaning back on the island counter behind her. 

“Hey, what are you doing?” He toes her in the calf as she stands on tiptoes to look for olive oil. 

“Trying to decide what I should cook us.”

Bellamy steps forward so he’s looming right behind her, hands on her hips. He ducks his head and nuzzles at her neck; a trick he’s learned gets Clarke hot. He slides his hands under her shirt to rest on her stomach as she shivers.

“What are you doing?” he asks again against the skin right below her ear.

“Definitely ordering take out.” Clarke turns in his arms and he hoists her up onto the counter. 

“That’s what I thought,” he says playfully as he strips off her shirt and kisses her. “I remember you said something about fucking you wherever I wanted?”

They order in Chinese and Bellamy only manages to do up his jeans when the delivery guy arrives. Clarke is delighted by Bellamy’s flush. She opens a bottle of wine and they sprawl out on her floor rather than try to rearrange the mess they’ve made of the table. Clarke pulls her hair into a messy bun and pulls on an old flannel over her bra, forgoing her jeans and sweater, and Bellamy seems happy to eat just in his jeans. 

“You keep actual pictures?” Bellamy asks halfway through their meal, gesturing with this chopsticks at the little glass table next to Clarke’s TV.

Clarke glances over her shoulder at the little table full of framed photographs of her and her friends through out the years. She turns back to Bellamy with a smile and a shrug. “I like having them around. I can see them all at once without getting distracted by my phone or anything else on Facebook, you know?”

“Huh,” Bellamy says and takes another bite of Lo Mein. “Hey, is that O?” He abandons his box of noodles on the floor, which is poor form because Clarke immediately steals a bite, and gets up to investigate closer. The picture he’s seen is of Clarke and Octavia their freshman year of college, only a few days after they had met. Octavia is pressing a kiss to Clarke’s cheek outside some house party, Clarke’s arms looped around her shoulders, grinning tipsily at the camera. Bellamy picks it up and studies it. 

“Part of me is really glad I wasn’t around to witness Octavia in college,” he admits. “Probably would have given me a heart attack.” 

“We weren’t that bad, “ Clarke protests around a dumpling. 

Bellamy replaces the picture and scans the rest of them. Clarke turns around to watch him, smiling herself at the pictures. There are lots of her and Raven and Octavia, a couple of her and her dad and…“Who’s this?” Bellamy asks as he picks up the one of her and Wells from their junior prom, grinning like maniacs with their arms thrown over each other’s shoulders. “Old boyfriend?”

Clarke drops her eyes to her hands. “Old friend.” 

Bellamy puts the picture down. There’s only one other picture of Wells: in his army uniform right after they graduated, looking proud and handsome and so young. Bellamy picks that one up and turns to look at her.

“He make it out ok?”

“No.” Clarke says, simply.

Bellamy puts the picture back down carefully, making sure none of the other pictures are blocking it. “He looks like he was a good kid,” he says a bit gruffly and comes back to sit with her, studying her as he sinks back down next to her on the floor. “Do you know what happened?”

“No, they didn’t release the details.” Clarke puts her sweet and sour chicken down, suddenly not hungry. “He and I had this big blow out fight, right before we graduated. I basically stopped talking to him for two years over some stupid misunderstanding. We worked it out in the end but…”

“But you blame yourself,” Bellamy says fiercely. “You can’t do that to yourself, you’ll drive yourself crazy.” He looks at her so intently that Clarke can’t hold his eyes, just nods. 

“I know. I just… I miss him.”

“He looks like a guy worth missing,” Bellamy reaches out and squeezes her knee. “But what happened to him, Clarke, it’s not on you.”

Clarke nods again and swallows. Desperate to change the topic, she says: “Octavia said you served while we were in school?”

“Mm. Yeah. I went to college on a ROTC scholarship. I could support Octavia through high school that way, allowed us to save money for her. When she went to college, I did my service, then I got out. I wasn’t all that interested in being a soldier.”

“I’m glad you made it out.”

“You and me both, Princess.”

Bellamy packs up his bag after dinner and Clarke leans easy on the chair next to him. “It’s nice to have someone to study around,” she says, “Helps me stay focused.” She doesn’t tell him it makes the apartment feel less huge, makes the ghost of her dad’s presence less pronounced when she has other people around.

“Yeah, well, if you need a study buddy, my thesis could as probably benefit from some added focus,” Bellamy admits. “And my quality coffee intake too.”

“I don’t know,” Clarke says seriously, studying her nails, “can you call it coffee with all the sugar and milk you put in it?”

Bellamy crowds he up against the wall and breathes: “You got something to say, coffee snob?”

“I don’t know, do I, Mr. Pink-bean-bag-chair?”

“Hey,” Bellamy laughs. “I bought your silence on that one. And lots of people like milk and sugar in their coffee, Princess.”

“They don’t wear leather jackets while trying to maintain their Bad Boy vibe, Bellamy,” Clarke mimics his tone. 

“I do not,” Bellamy says, offended, “have a bad boy vibe. I have a tough vibe, Clarke. I’m very tough.”

“Uh-huh. Ask your students about that one.”

“Clarke-“

“Maybe you bring back the slicked-back hair look. You know, the one you had in high school?”

Clarke laughs at Bellamy’s look of horror. “Octavia didn’t.”

“She did,” Clarke confirms happily, patting Bellamy on the shoulder. “I saw all the pictures. There were so many pictures.”

“My little sister and I need to have a talk about privacy.” Bellamy grumbles, and drops his hands so that Clarke can walk him to the door. She opens him for it and grins. “See you around.”

Bellamy squeezes her shoulder on his way out. “See you later, Princess.”

 

***

“And then,” Octavia says, gesturing with her beer so wildly that Lincoln only just manages to avoid being hit in the face, “And then, Indra goes up to this Senator, and she just lays into him.” Octavia grins, a feral glint in her eye. “Man, I have never seen anyone get onboard so fast with our agenda. Indra has a gift.”

“She sounds terrifying,” Jasper says honestly and looks a little terrified himself when Octavia swings toward him, shifting on Lincoln’s lap so she can look at Jasper full on. 

“Terrifying, and amazing.” She nods solemnly. “I’m going to be just like her.”

“You already are, O.” Bellamy says fondly. He’s leaning against the table that Clarke, Lincoln and Jasper are all sitting around, preferring to stand rather than to balance on Dropship’s backless stools. “Totally fucking terrifying anyway.” 

“And amazing,” Lincoln says into the skin of her shoulder and Octavia glows.

“Happy Friday,” Raven announces as she Monty bounce up to their table and Raven wraps her arms around Clarke’s waist, giving her a squeeze and hooking her chin on her shoulder. “I’m so unbelievably excited to get wasted with you guys, it’s unreal.” Monty and Jasper fistbump as Monty pulls up a stool.

“Long week?” Bellamy asks. 

“You have no idea,” Monty supplies. “But the app is coming together. Slowly.”

“Yeah, Monty is absolutely killing it,” Raven adds. “His coding is out of this world, I mean, you should see him debugging our original code, it’s-’”

“Oook,” Jasper interrupts her. “Can we just agree that Monty is a genius, which we all already knew and not talk tech? I can’t keep up with coding when I’m drinking.”

“Fine, but no politics,” Monty counters. “What’s in there?” He gestures to the half-full pitcher on their table. 

“Ring of Fire,” Clarke tells him and giggles as Raven makes a delighted noise and helps herself to some from Clarke’s pint. Clarke moves over so Raven can perch on her stool with her.

Monty looks skeptical and excuses himself to get his favorite from that bar: Radio Silence.

“So Clarke,” Octavia says, leaning across the table conspiratorially. “How’s Bill?”

“Fine,” Clarke returns with a raised eyebrow.

“Do we get to meet him soon?”

“Nope.”

“Who is this?” Jasper asks, looking up from his phone, mid text message.

“Just Clarke’s super secret hook up,” Octavia says exasperated as she leans back into Lincoln. “Who she won’t let us meet.” Bellamy chokes a bit on his beer and covers it with an overly manly cough.

Clarke rolls her eyes and pointedly doesn’t look at Bellamy. “I told you, it’s nothing serious.”

“What isn’t?” Murphy asks as he joins them and Clarke resists the urge to drop her head on the table. 

“Your choice in careers,” Clarke snaps. 

“Ok, hostile,” Murphy says. “But fair. I hate interning. Where’s Miller?”

“He’s on his way,” Raven says. “He said he was going to pick up Monroe.”

“That’s not a thing, is it?” Jasper asks carefully. He glances back at the bar toward where Monty is still trying to catch the eye of the bartender. 

“No,” Bellamy reassures him. “Strictly platonic.”

“Speaking of which,” Octavia says brightly, “Jasper, your phone is blowing up, is it that girl from the museum?”

“Maya? Yeah,” Jasper says with a smile that stretches his mouth too big for his face. “She’s so cool. She works in conservation, isn’t that awesome?”

Miller and Monroe show up in the midst of Jasper talking about Maya. When Monty returns from the bar, Clarke notes Miller’s tentative shy smile, which Monty returns and then drops his eyes. She catches Bellamy’s eye and rolls her own. He gives her a knowing look in return. 

Clarke gets up when they run out of their second pitcher since it’s her turn to buy and leans on the bar. It’s crowded now and Clarke has to fight for the bartender’s attention. “Bill?” A voice says softly, close to her ear. “Really?” Clarke flushes and turns to look up at Bellamy. 

“I panicked,” Clarke admits. “It was that or ‘Amy’, and I figured it would be easier to stick with the right gender.”

Bellamy smirks. “You are so unoriginal.”

“Well, you do better, who would you say you were hooking up with if Raven and your little sister cornered you?”

Bellamy shrugs. “They haven’t yet and they won’t. Octavia thinks I’m incapable of sleeping with anybody more than once and Raven and I have an understanding where we don’t think about each other’s sex lives.”

“Healthy boundaries,” Clarke mutters and tries to ignore the way Bellamy rests the lip of his beer bottle against his mouth. She fails, and Bellamy smiles, slow and a bit mean when her eyes drop to his lips. Clarke rolls her eyes in return and doesn’t pay attention to how her stomach flips.

Bellamy shifts and his hand brushes her lower back under the cover of the crowd around them. “What are you doing later?”

“You, probably,” Clarke says and finally manages to catch the bartenders eye. “Yeah, a pitcher of 18 Dead, please.”

***  
It becomes a strangely easy pattern for them. Bellamy shows up on the afternoons that they both have free, settles in at her table either to grade or work on his thesis. He drinks her coffee and takes up space in her kitchen when she insists that they can’t always order food, getting under foot and trying to help in ways that usually mean part of their dinner ends up burnt. Clarke thinks he does it on purpose. Bellamy really likes takeout. They take their studying breaks seriously and usually end up on Clarke’s bed or her couch, Bellamy running his mouth as he fucks her. It’s a routine that works and Clarke is surprised to discover she actually likes being around him.

 

“I don’t even know what you’re thesis is about,” Clarke says one afternoon, standing by her chair and stretching to loosen her shoulders. Bellamy holds up a dog-eared book entitled: _The Poems of Catullus_. Clarke shakes her head, not recognizing the name.

“He’s uh, this Roman poet, crazy prolific. I’m writing about whether he had a subversive effect on the medieval poetry canon.”

“And what’s the verdict?” Clarke asks, curious. 

“Princess, I’m making this shit up as I go,” Bellamy laughs self-deprecatingly. “But he’s a great poet and dirty as hell. It’s part of the reason I chose to write my thesis on him.”

“That’s really cool, Bellamy,” Clarke says and Bellamy’s mouth quirks up into a flattered, pleased smile, which he hides under his hand.

They manage to study without much distraction for a while loner before Clarke slips her hand under the table and finds the inside of Bellamy’s knee. She squeezes and then runs her fingers teasingly light up the inner seam of his jeans. Bellamy lifts his eyes from his computer and raises an eyebrow.

“Did you want something?” Clarke asks, inflecting her voice with disinterest. He chuckles and goes back to typing on his computer. 

“Not at all.”

Clarke drags her fingers back down his leg and then repeats the motion, this time with the flat of her hand. He gives a small shudder when she reaches the seam of his thigh and presses her fingers down hard to rub at the soft skin there. Clarke hides her smirk under her other hand and keeps her eyes trained on the page in front of her. She finds and palms him through his jeans. He’s still soft, but she gives him an encouraging squeeze and taps her fingers lightly against him, feels him start to swell. 

He’s looking at her when she glances up again, his eyes gone dark and wanting. She gives him her best innocent, inquiring smile and she squeezes him again, gives him a short rub up and down. “Stuck?’ She asks sympathetically, “All that Latin getting to you?” She lifts her pen to her mouth and nibbles at it as if she’s thinking.

“Clarke,” he says, low and hot and she takes her hand away.

“We could take a walk,” Clarke says as earnestly as she can. I mean, I’m right in the middle of this, but I could take a break if you really want to get your blood pumping.” She grins.

Bellamy shakes his head in disbelief at her. “Oh no,” he says, rolling his eyes back down to his book, “absolutely wouldn’t want to disturb you.”

“Oh, that’s ok!” Clarke says brightly and goes back to cupping him, his dick hard and hot now, even through the denim. She drops her pen on the floor without any pretense of subtly. “Oops.”

She tries to grab it with her toes but just kicks it happily under the table. She gives Bellamy a self-deprecating grin. “I’m such a klutz.”

“You’re such a fucking dork is what you are,” Bellamy tells her, clearly amused in spite of himself. She makes a show of clambering out of her chair and crawling under the table in search of her pen. She smiles as Bellamy obligingly spreads his thighs, slouching in his seat as she settles cross-legged between them. 

“I can’t find my pen.”

“Really?” he laughs.

“Nope. Found something else though.”

“I’m shocked,” he deadpans. Clarke ignores him ad instead undoes the zip of his flies and reaches in to draw him out of his boxers. She loves his cock: it has just the right curve to it that when he fucks her that it drives her crazy. It fills her mouth perfectly too. She licks at it now, wet and messy, gets her fingers wet and slides them over the length of his shaft while she rubs his cockhead against her lips and tongue.

“Jesus,” Bellamy mutters above her. Clarke lets him feel her smirk. She nuzzles his dick, lets it rub across her cheek and slip across her wet mouth. She leans forward and breathes out hot against the base of it, drags her teeth lightly up his length and swipes at the precum beading at the tip with her wet thumb.  
Bellamy’s hips jerk forward and Clarke lips at him, flicks her tongue out against him, teasing until his dick is flushed red and Bellamy’s hand is clenched into his thigh. She can hear his breath gone ragged. Clarke finally gives in and opens her mouth, sucking soft and hot around the head. 

“Fuck,” Bellamy groans, dragging out the syllable, making Clarke’s stomach flip. “Damn, babe, your mouth is so good. “ Clarke hums around him in response feeling lazy. She tongues at him, grips her hand around his shaft and works him slow and firm. She opens her mouth further and follows her hand down his cock, slurping messy and loud. 

Bellamy’s fingers tremble when he traces the stretch of her lips around him, feeling the bulge of his cock against her cheek. Clarke pulls back and licks at his fingertips, catching one between her teeth and flicking it with her tongue.

“Fucking dirty,” Bellamy tells her, “you’re fucking torture, Princess.” His voice is gravely- Clarke loves it. She abandons his fingers and goes back to sucking on his cock. She slips her hand into her unbuttoned jeans so she can rub at her clit, too turned on to resist. Her arm brushes against Bellamy’s calf as she works her fingers. “Are you, oh fuck, Clarke, are you getting off on this?” He grabs her hair and pulls her off his cock with a slurp. She whines and flicks her tongue out to chase his taste. He rubs her head soothingly. “I gotta see that, baby, I gotta see that. Come out here so I can watch you rub your clit while you suck my cock.”

He pushes his chair back and Clarke crawls out after him. Before she can reposition herself between his legs, he catches her arms and pulls her up to stand between his legs. He drops his hands to her hips and tugs her jeans and panties down her legs. He steadies her with a hand on her elbow and she steps out of them as delicately as she can. He bites at the soft swell of her stomach, right below her belly button, and brushes his thumb over her clit. 

“Do you feel how wet you are?” Bellamy asks her, hot breath on her belly making her shiver. “Is this all from my dick in your mouth? Did that get you this wet?” He crooks two fingers into her and Clarke moans. “Yeah,” Bellamy sighs with her, “Oh yeah baby, go on. I didn’t mean to interrupt. You go ahead and help yourself to my cock. I’m not going to stop you.” 

Clarke sinks back down onto her knees and reaches for his cock, but Bellamy holds it, palmed against his stomach. “Spread your legs, babe,” Bellamy tells her as he gives his cock a slow stroke. “Let me watch you treat yourself.” When she does, he grips his cock and tilts it towards her, offering. As she sinks back down on him, Clarke can taste the tang of her own arousal from his fingers and she moans. 

“Yeah, you taste yourself?” Bellamy growls. “Tastes good, doesn’t it?” 

Clarke gives him a small moan and gets her fingers back on her clit. She teases Bellamy as much as she teases herself, sticking with short shallow sucks at the head of his dick, only alternating them with long, flat licks. She keeps her fingers in light circles on her clit, enjoying the hitches in Bellamy’s breath. 

“Clarke,“ Bellamy growls after a while, his hips twitching at every pass of her tongue. His hand lands warm and heavy on the back of her neck and he squeezes. “Come on, Princess.”

She lifts her eyes to his with a smirk and mouths at the tip of his cock, licking his slit. He swears, hips jerking unintentionally, driving his cock against her tongue. Clarke moans at that and Bellamy reaches down to cup her cheek as she doubles her efforts. “Oh, you liked that?” he asks, voice husky and mischievous. “Is that what you want me to do, Clarke? Fuck your mouth?” Clarke gives him a hard suck, meeting his eyes and trying to smile around his cock. “If you want that, I’m going to need to hear you ask me for it. I need to hear you say you want it.”

He traces his thumb along her jaw as she draws back. “I want it, Bellamy.” Her voice is hoarse. 

Bellamy groans and leans forward to kiss her, sloppy and biting. “Whatever you want, Princess, whatever you want.”

He slouches further in the chair and uses the hand on the back of her neck to pull Clarke forward. He traces the seam of her lips with his thumb. “Such pretty lips,” he says as he catches her chin, pressing gently to encourage her to open her mouth. “So fucking sweet.”

His dick slips back in easy and Clarke flattens her tongue. Bellamy gives a careful, experimental thrust of his hips. It’s so sweet and good the way he moves in her mouth and Clarke moans around him. His fingers twist gently in her hair at the back of her neck where he keeps her head close. He slowly sets up an unhurried, rolling rhythm, cock sliding to the back of her mouth, tapping against the back of her throat every few thrusts. He brushes her hair back out of her fair. “Look at you. So good to me, Clarke. Look at me, huh?” he urges, and when she does: “Damn you’re sexy as hell, babe.”

On his next thrust, Clarke shifts her head and lets his cock slide down her throat, swallowing around him. Bellamy’s head drops with a thunk against the back of his chair. “Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck that’s so good.”

Clarke’s eyes water as she works to keep her throat open and relaxed for him. She sucks at him as he pulls back a bit letting a mixture of spit and precum gather at the base of his dick. She can’t multitask enough to keep the motion of her fingers going, just digs the heel of her hand against her clit, moaning at how good it all feels.

Bellamy makes a helpless noise, high in his throat. “Clarke,” he gasps, “Fuck, Clarke, I’m gonna come.” Clarke sucks harder and twists her head as much as she can with Bellamy’s grip in her hair and swallows him back down, throat working around him.

She feels his dick pulse and pulls back enough that she can get the taste of his cum on her tongue. It’s bitter and salty and it gets her even hotter than she is. She sucks on him sweetly until he reaches down and bodily pulls her up, tugging her into his lap and pulling her legs around so she’s straddling him. He surges up to kiss her, hands greedy on her body, mouth hungry and a bit desperate. He stops kissing her long enough to strip her out of her shirt and then catches her bottom lip between his teeth, making her breath catch. 

“Tell me what you want, Princess,” he says, kissing the juncture of her neck and shoulder, unclasping her bra and getting his hands on her tits, “whatever you want, huh? Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.” He ducks his head and tongues at her nipples, one hand rubbing over thigh. As she curls one hand into his mussed curls, Clarke squeezes the other between their bodies, getting her fingers back on herself. She’s so close already and Bellamy’s strong arms around her, his cock still hard against her ass, his eyes hot and focused are all she can think to want. 

“Just this,” she manages and Bellamy kisses her again, fierce. 

“You got it, Princess,” Bellamy breathes against her mouth in between full-lipped kisses. “You want me to help?”

“Maybe your fingers,” Clarke starts and Bellamy is already accommodating her, slouching lower in his seat so he can support her leaning back against the table, dragging her ass forward so her hips cant toward him. She sees his eyes darken as he watches her fingers work over her clit. He strokes his large fingers over hers, gathering some of the wetness there. 

“Clarke, you have no idea how hot this is,” Bellamy husks at her. He turns his wrist and sinks two fingers into her, easy. They both moans and Clarke clenches down, rocking a bit on Bellamy’s fingers.

“Goddamn, babe.” Bellamy looks up at her, pupils so blown she can barely see his irises. “I can feel how close you are, you’re that tight.” 

He crooks his fingers and rocks them up. “Yeah,” he says at her moan, leaning forward to kiss first one nipple and then the other. “Your cunt feels so good, Clarke. Oh, that’s right,” Bellamy encourages her as her fingers speed up and she twitches back against his fingers, “That’s right babe, we’re gonna get you there. We’re going to make you come.” He flutters his fingers as if beckoning her, rubbing up inside her right as he holds her hip in place with his other hand so she stays close to him.

“Bellamy,” she gasps, right on the edge, tears in her eyes from how good it feels, “Oh, oh, please, fuck.”

“Mmm,” he agrees, “yeah it’s so good, isn’t it? You feel how wet you are around my fingers, babe? You feel how tight and sweet you are? C’mon Clarke, god, you’re gorgeous, c’mon.” Clarke comes, pulsing and clenching on his fingers, pulling her hand away because it’s so good, too much, crying out when Bellamy’s thumb immediately replaces it, rubbing gently but insistently, She thrashes on his lap, overwhelmed by it all. 

“I think you can give me one more,” Bellamy says when she gasps his name, his fingers working her inside, thumb circling tight and sweet on her clit. “One more, huh, baby?” Her second orgasm is little more than a prolonged extension of her first, but when it hits her, Clarke’s body gives a shudder and Bellamy swears, his dick twitching against her tailbone. “Hell yeah, Clarke. Good girl.”

He slides his fingers out from her gently and just cups his hand over her cunt, lightly stroking her labia. “That was so hot. I could watch you get yourself off all day.” He hauls her up from her sprawled, shaky lean against the table and takes her weight against his chest. Clarke lets herself be manhandled, rests her forehead against his shoulder and smirks into his skin. 

“I don’t think my legs are ever going to work right again,” Clarke says. “They’re just jelly now.” His chest vibrates with his chuckle. She turns her head when she feels him searching for a kiss so that their lips can brush lazily.

“Jelly legs,” Bellamy repeats amused. “Sound tasty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the lovely cetaprincipessa on tumblr for her fabulous feedback and motivation <3


	3. October

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I thought this was only going to be three chapters long and it was going to be done by the season three premier? Yeah...
> 
> Thank you to the amazing cetaprincipessa on tumblr for her motivation, proof reading and babbling back at me when it's the only way I can communicate my feelings about the 100.
> 
> And thank you to everyone who commented and left kudos! Always a highlight in my day to receive those notifications. Seriously peeps, thank you for your support.

“Bellamy,” Clarke says leaning her hip against the kitchen counter and fighting to keep the her face straight. “Do you want my help?”

“Hello no, Princess.” Bellamy snaps, frown lines deepening between his eyebrows. “It’s a matter of honor now.” Clarke turns her face away to hide the smile she can’t contain.

“Do you want a hint?” She asks as she inspects her nails after a minute of Bellamy’s continued struggle.

“…Just one.” Bellamy scowls at her like it’s her fault and Clarke points to the button that releases the compartment for the grounds. Bellamy jabs at it, glaring at her. “I would have gotten there,” he says defensively as he attempts to carefully place the filter and pour in the freshly ground coffee beans. “Why the fuck do you own this machine from hell?”

“Because it’s so much better than instant,” Clarke teases and sees him actively fight against the twitch of his lips, his dimple showing just the slightest bit.

“Low blow,” Bellamy says, carefully closing the compartment and glancing at her questioningly. She nods at the water tank. He manages to open it and pour in his waiting mug of water. “But true,” he admits.

His finger hovers above the ‘on’ button and Clarke nods. As the machine clicks on with a soft hum, Bellamy does smile, wide and toothy like a child.

“Look at that,” he says.

“So proud of you,” Clarke snarks and he shoves at her, still grinning.

“I could totally be a barista,” Bellamy boasts playfully and lifts himself up onto her island counter, swinging his legs.

“Hm, a TA who also worked in a coffee shop. You’d be fulfilling a ton of fantasies right there if you’re not careful.”

“Yours, Princess? Care to share?” Bellamy bares his teeth in a smirk that Clarke will refuse point blank to admit actually gets her hot.

“I was thinking more your students. I go for older, more mature types.”

“I’m older,” Bellamy reminds her.

“But more mature?” Clarke asks, hopping up across from him and just managing to reach across the space between them and kick his legs.

“I’m mature as hell,” Bellamy insists and kicks back at her as if that will prove his point. The coffee maker begins to drip and Bellamy grins again. “It’s working. I’m awesome at this.”

“Your ego really didn’t need this boost,” Clarke says with a roll of her eyes. “We should find a way to temper it before your head gets too big and just rolls off your shoulders.”

“You would fix me,” Bellamy says. “You’re too much of a softie to let me wander around headless.”

“I only assist in the clinic. I’m not sure I’d be qualified to treat such a severe ailment.”

“I have faith in you,” Bellamy says unconcerned. Clarke fights back her grin and manages to look put-upon.

“Well for Octavia’s sake I would definitely try.”

“Thank you,” Bellamy swings his felt a bit more. “You going to go to that Oktoberfest O was talking about?”

Clarke shrugs. ”Probably. Copious amounts of beer, German food and watching Lincoln get drunk? I’m totally in.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Watching him get drunk is one of my favorite activities. He just turns into this giant teddy bear.”

Bellamy chuckles and scrubs at the back of his neck. “Yeah, he’s halfway decent.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “He’s a good guy. You know that.”

“Sure,” Bellamy agrees. “But I’m always going to worry about O. Old habits and all that.” The coffeemaker clicks off and Clarke passes Bellamy his cup of coffee, followed by the sugar bowl.

“He’s a good guy,” Clarke repeats. “But I promise that if he ever hurts Octavia I’ll be right there with you, ready to kick his ass.”

“As long as you promise.” Bellamy hops off the counter and raids her fridge for milk. He doctors his coffee and steps between her legs, holding the mug under her nose. She wrinkles her nose at the sweet smell and he grins. “Taste it?”

“No way, you always put way too much sugar in.”

“Come on, Clarke,” Bellamy whines. “It’s my first ever cup of real coffee that I made myself! You’re ruining my dreams of becoming your hot barista fantasy.” He’s laughing by the time he finishes, unable to keep a straight face and Clarke flushes.

“It’s not my fantasy,” she protests but accepts the cup from him and takes a sip, grimacing. “Yuck.”

Bellamy takes it back with a smirk. He takes a sip and smiles, slow. “Delicious. I’m in charge of making coffee from here on out.”

“No way. Not going to happen, Blake.”

“Try and stop me, Griffin.” He tugs her hair playfully the way he sometimes does to Octavia or Monroe. “Now come on, I’ve got like fifty essays to grade on the Emperor Augustus. What are you working on?”

“The Brain and Consciousness,” Clarke recites. “Good thing you’re here as a prime example of someone who lacks both those things.”

“Hey,” Bellamy says, offended. “Fuck you too.”

“Later,” Clarke agrees and laughs at his expression.

Later sees them sprawled across her bed, Bellamy holding her wrists down and fucking her slowly, biting at her neck and shoulders, making it last. Their chests slide slick against each other, his peaked nipples brushing hers. He makes it last until Clarke’s only words are gasped profanities into his neck and he laughs at her, but it’s strained. When she comes, it seems to last forever and then she sucks him off, hand vice-like around the base of his cock, keeping him from coming until he’s all but nonverbal: his normal slew of words faltering to just growled pleas. She likes it, maybe too much.

He slings his arm around her shoulder after, companionable, and traces lazy patterns on her shoulder. When she hums he glances down at her. “You like that?”

She nods against his chest, scratches her fingers through the hair there. “It’s nice,” she affirms. “Good study break.”

“Very,” Bellamy rumbles and gently dislodges her so he can sit back up. He slaps her hip lightly. “Come on, lazy. I know you still have ten pages to get through. No time to nap.”

“Alright,” Clarke says and stretches out across the bed. Bellamy watches her and then shakes his head.

“Fucking distracting,” he mutters and catches her under the arms to haul her up.

Early October is brisk and sunny, and Clarke finds that that changing leaves boost her mood. Trying to balance two jobs, a college class and her social life tends to leave Clarke exhausted at the end of most days, but Raven and Octavia make time to drop by her apartment for dinner at least once and week, bringing wine and occasionally a few of their other friends. When Lincoln comes he commandeers the kitchen and cooks for all of them, singing off key to the cheesy Ricky Martin Pandora station they put on.

They rent a van and drive down to the Oktoberfest in Maryland for a weekend, renting a few rooms from a nearby in and spend the days outside, drinking beer and eating spaetzle. Miller can do a perfect German accent and he has Clarke in stitches when he delivers it blank faced and sincere in response to Bellamy, who is just drunk enough to be confused by it. Jasper brings along Maya, who is shy and beautiful and when she finds out Clarke and Lincoln work in an art shop she’s thrilled and makes them both promise to show her the work that they’ve done. Monroe and Murphy try to have a dance off in front of the Volksmusik grandstand. It’s altogether, Clarke thinks warmly as they drive home on Sunday afternoon, a perfect weekend.

***

“We’re playing trivia tonight,” Octavia says as soon as Clarke picks up the phone. “And I’ve already decided what our team name is going to be.”

“Oh yeah?” Clarke asks as she pours coffee into her thermos and balances her phone on her shoulder. “What were you thinking?”

“We’re going full Gina Linetti. Our team’s going to be: ‘The Human Form of The 100 Emoji.’”

“Inspiring,” Clarke says dryly. “Did you finally convince Lincoln to come tonight?”

“Not yet. He’s weird about trivia and competitions. He’d like it better if the whole bar just worked together to figure out the answers rather than compete.” Octavia sounds like she’s rolling her eyes even over the phone, but there’s so much fondness in voice that it makes Clarke smile.

“He’s kinda missing the point, isn’t he?”

“You’re telling me. For someone with so many muscles he’s a huge hippie. But I finally bullied Bellamy into joining us, so now we’ll have at least have some history nerd knowledge on our team.” Clarke laughs as she drops her thermos into her bag.

“Something we usually need.”

“I know right? Oh, shit-I gotta go, Clarke, Indra’s here, but I’ll see you tonight.”

“I’ll see you,” Clarke agrees. She sets her phone down on her bag, and pushes her hair off her face. Her apartment is sun drenched, morning light streaming in from her large windows by the dining room table. The hardwood floors glow blonde and honey and Clarke takes a moment to breath in the serenity of her apartment, something she finds she often forgets to do.

She has the day shift at the clinic, and then straight to trivia if she wants to get there on time. She can’t miss out on the first round- that’s usually where she can most easily bait Murphy. She hadn’t realized Bellamy would be joining them. She picks up the mug of coffee she had set aside and brings it into her room. It’s still dark and cozy, shades drawn and the messy bed inviting. Her side is empty, covers pushed off so she could escape, but on the other side there’s a lump of pillows and duvet. She sits cross-legged on her side of the bed and pokes at the blankets.

“Bellamy,” she says, when she doesn’t get a response. “Bellamy, you didn’t suffocate, did you?”

She gets an undignified noise at that and Bellamy’s dark curls emerge from his nest. He blinks at her, a bit disoriented. “Is that coffee?” he asks, voice gravelly with sleep.

“I made a little extra for you.” She offers him the cup and Bellamy half props himself up on his arm to take it.

“What time is it?” He squints at her. “How are you dressed?”

“I happen to have an adult job. I don’t get to roll up to class looking however I want anymore. At 10:30 am. On a Thursday.”

“Huh. You should try it,” Bellamy says. “It’s great.” He manages a small sip of coffee and smiles a bit before shaking his head and holding it back out to her. “Too early,” he protests.

“You are such a teenager. Your sister is already at work.” She sets the cup down on the bedside table in easy reaching distance.

“That’s because O is an overachiever,” Bellamy mutters from the depths of his den. One brown eye cracks open to look at her and Clarke raises an eyebrow. “Do you, uh, do you need me to get up though? I can probably manage that, if you need to head out.”

“It’s cool. You can stay as long as you want. But I know where to find you if my coffee maker disappears, Blake.”

“You’d never be able to find it,” Bellamy states pretty confidently given that Clarke is about ninety-percent sure he’s already half asleep again.

“Whatever you say, Bellamy.” Clarke pats the blanket and gets up. “Have fun TA-ing.”

Clarke thinks the noise that follows her out of the bedroom might be his attempt at wishing her a good day. What an idiot, she thinks fondly.

It hadn’t been as weird as she had worried, waking up next to Bellamy. The night before he had looked so run down around the eyes, tired and stressed about his thesis and an upcoming meeting with his advisor that it seemed so natural to simply let him stay the night rather than send him 40 minutes across the city to his bed.

“I don’t have a change of clothes…” Bellamy had said, but Clarke could tell the offer was tempting.

“Bellamy, if you don’t wear the same outfit twice in two days, you’re not taking advantage of alternating class schedules” Clarke had said, brandishing a plastic wrapped toothbrush at him. “Now go brush your fucking teeth.” From the few remaining items of her dad’s in the apartment, Clarke had found an old t-shirt and tossed it at Bellamy when he came out of her bathroom. He caught it before it hit him in the face.

“Thanks, Clarke. For letting me crash.”

“It’s not even a thing,” Clarke said, waving it away. “But snorers get banished to couches.”

He had chuckled at that. “Noted.”

Lying together in the dark, Clarke had stared at the ceiling, unsure if this should feel uncomfortable. It was a line crossed, perhaps, going from Study-Buddies With Benefits to sleeping next to each other, but Bellamy had offered, that first night they had been together and that had been natural. It shouldn’t be weird now, after all the time they spent sharing the same space. Bellamy had reached over and touched her stomach, light and gentle. “Good night, Clarke.” And suddenly it wasn’t weird at all.

“’Night, Bellamy,” she had whispered back in the shuttered darkness, then his breath had evened out and he had slept beside her.

Trivia night is risky business, to put it lightly. For one, they somehow managed to collect some of the most competitive people Washington DC in their friend group. For another, the fact that they all like to drink regardless of the night of the week usually means by the last round their collected answers border on nonsensical. But it’s a good time nonetheless and one that they don’t take indulge in often enough.

Clarke only has enough time to change into leggings at work before she’s sprinting to hop onto the metro to make it on time. When she gets there, Raven and Octavia have already staked out a long table in a corner of the room and Monty is sitting next to them on their side. Bellamy is lounging with Murphy on the other side of the table and after she greets her friends, she makes them both move over so she can sit between them, evening the table out. “Please,” Bellamy says as he scoots over, “help yourself to wherever you’d like to sit, Princess.”

Clarke has to remind herself that telling him his lap is where she’d like to be is not acceptable in present company. “As the newest team member, you don’t get to complain, Bellamy. ” She informs him. He’s made it home to change since this morning, clearly, wearing a button down and his glasses, for once. He wrinkles his nose at her as she reaches for the pitcher of beer.

“You smell like antiseptic,” he informs her.

“And you smell like teenage hormones. How many freshman hit on you today?”

“Nope!” Octavia says loudly. “Nope, we are not discussing that. Ew. Bellamy, don’t hit on freshman.”

“I don’t!” Bellamy protests. “I actively discourage them hitting on me!” But Raven is laughing at him and he leans back in his chair, huffing good naturedly.

“So glad you made it in time, Clarke.” Murphy says lazily, propping his chin in his hand. “Octavia was worried they were only going to ask obscure medical knowledge and art history questions in the first round. We would have been completely lost without you.”

“At least you would’ve been here to answer any questions about what it’s like to be a criminal defense lawyer’s intern.” Clarke says, smirking at Murphy’s eye roll. “Raven, how was-“

Raven holds up a finger to forestall her as the MC welcomes them to trivia night and announces the first round’s categories. With TV, American Cinema, World Geography and Music, Clarke thinks they might have a chance to start out strong. “We got this!” Raven tells them happily. “No one can beat Monty’s music taste and knowledge.”

“Promise not to let you guys down,” Monty says, flashing her a smile.

“What famous guest star,” the MC starts, “appeared in Seinfeld in 1994 and went on to star in another American sitcom?”

Raven and Octavia immediately start debating famous sitcoms and possible guest appearances, but Clarke glances up at Bellamy who is looking at her, amused. “Huh,” he chuckles and reaches across the snag the answer sheet from Octavia.

“It’s-“

“Yeah, absolutely. FRIENDS.” Clarke confirms and passes Bellamy the pencil from in front of Raven. “No, it’s-“

“I know how to spell it,” Bellamy grumbles and quickly corrects his mistake.

“What, what?” Octavia asks leaning across the table to look. “Who do you think it is?”

“Courtney Cox,” Clarke tells her softly.

“Really?” Raven asks frowning. “I don’t remember her on there.”

“She is. She played Meryl,” Bellamy says confidently and tosses the pencil back on the table.

“Better be right, Blake,” Raven says but lets it lie.

Clarke smiles and takes a sip of beer. She and Bellamy had literally just watched the episode the previous week; stopping mid make-out to laugh so hard they couldn’t breath. She realizes Murphy’s looking at her oddly and she raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Just a little uncanny,” Murphy says slowly. “You two suddenly psychic twins.”

Clarke shrugs. “We must’ve both seen it recently, I guess. It’s always on.”

“I didn’t know that level of nonverbal communication existed outside of movies.” Murphy says and takes a sip of his beer.

“What’s this?” Bellamy asks, tuning in.

“Murphy’s bitter because he didn’t know the right answer.” Clarke informs him and downs the rest of her beer.

“Keep up, Murphy.” Bellamy says across her and she smirks.

By the end of the night, they’re all pretty drunk. The questions make them laugh because they’ve gotten so obscure that they flat out have no idea what the correct answer might be. Octavia has stolen back the answer sheet and she talks aloud as she writes down a list of all possible combinations of words she can think of that might make up the acronym CVS. Raven takes over when she runs out of ideas as Monty offers any that he can think of. They’ve completely given up on anything that might be actually accurate and Murphy has started in on the concept of C standing for ‘castration’.  
Clarke can’t be bothered to contribute anything, pleasantly drunk enough that she’s propped her elbow on Bellamy’s shoulder and rests her weight against him. He leans back into the wall behind them doesn’t object. When she glances up at him, he returns her look with a quirk of his lips.

 

***

It’s Friday night and Clarke can’t be bothered to rally enough to make it out. Raven has come down with a seasonal cold and apparently Wick’s forcibly put her on bed rest. From Raven’s grumpy, congested call, Clarke privately agrees with Wick. Octavia has begged off for an overdue date night with Lincoln and with her closest friends out of commission, Clarke thinks the rain is a good enough reason to stay in to watch old movies. She’s just settled down on the couch when her phone buzzes and Bellamy’s name pops up on her screen.

_Going to Dropship?_

_No, movie night in._

And then, because why not, _Do you want to join?_

She expects Bellamy to come back with some quip about needing to pick the movie but he just texts back, _Sure, sounds nice._

Bellamy shows up with take out around 9 and Clarke rolls her eyes at how predictable he is but her stomach rumbling gives her away and he grins like it’s a victory. He’s gotten them Indian and even remembered her favorite curry dish. They eat sprawled out on the sofa while they watch Apartment Story, mimicking Jack Lemmon’s accent, laughing at each other. When the movie ends, Clarke mutes the TV and stretches, trying to relieve some of the knots her in her back.

Bellamy’s eyes linger on her shoulders. “I like this.” he slips his finger under the halter of her crop top and traces the bump of her collarbone around to the nape of her neck. “Makes your shoulders look really sexy.” 

“Yeah?” Clarke deadpans. “You want to borrow it sometime? I’ve noticed you need some help accenting your shoulders.”

“Desperately,” Bellamy agrees, easy, but his smile is filthy when it spreads across his face. He squeezes the back of her neck gently and Clarke huffs, tilting her head forward so he’ll repeat the motion. “That feel good, Princess?” The smug bastard, like he doesn’t know.

“Mm,” Clarke hums. “It’s nice, Bellamy.” Her eyes are closed but she feels him shift and he’s leaning in to kiss and then bite at the juncture of her shoulder and neck, just holding her lightly between his teeth, hot breath making her body shudder. He’s such a cheater. She wriggles away, laughing at his confused noise and steals his empty plate from his lap. “Don’t want these in the way,” she tells him. She dumps them in the sink and then returns, stretching her arms up as she stands before him, considering the TV. When she looks back at him, he’s staring at her tits, the way they press against her top, accentuated by her arms overhead,

Bellamy looks up, unabashed at having been caught staring and tilts his chin at her. “Come here.”

“What, you want some?” Clarke teases.

“Damn right I want some, Clarke. Come over here.”

“You come here,” she counters, dropping her hands to her hips and raising an eyebrow. Bellamy smirks, widening the fall of his thighs and extending his arms along the back of the couch.

“You feeling contrary?” His voice is pitched low, the way he does when he wants to sound tough, thinks he has an edge. “Come over here so I can touch you, babe. Let me get my hands on your pretty tits.”

And yeah, Clarke is down for that. But Bellamy doesn’t need anything else to stroke his ego, and she’s pretty sure it’s unhealthy for a person to be so smug. “I gotta come over there?” Clarke repeats and Bellamy gives her a slow nod like he’s won.

“Just come on over here and I’ll get my mouth on you the way you like.”

“Alright,” Clarke agrees but stays where she is, instead hooking her thumbs into her top and pulling it up, revealing the smooth skin of her ribcage, slow over her tits, making a show of it. She pulls it over her head and shakes her hair free, lets it fall next to her. Bellamy’s expression has gone from smug to hungry. She drops her hands to her jeans and pops the button open, undoes the zip slowly. The lace of her panties peeks through.

“Huh,” Bellamy rumbles eyes on her finger and then snapping back up to Clarke’s face. “Come over here, Clarke. Let me treat you right, Princess.”

“Ok,” She turns around instead, leans forward and pushes her jeans down her hips. She wiggles her ass to get the denim over the curve and then strips her jeans down her legs, deliberate about every inch, steps out of them and stands back up, arching her back. She can feel the heat of Bellamy’s gaze on her and when she glances over her shoulder, Bellamy’s fingers are curled into the cushions. She turns back to him with a light smile and arches a bit more, makes a show of pulling her hair up into the messy bun on top of her head.

Bellamy stares at her in a way that makes her feel powerful, sexy. When he meets her eyes again, his pupils are blown black.

“Clarke.” His voice is bit shot. She likes it. “Come here, babe. Come here. Let me be good to you, huh? Let me make you feel good.”

Clarke smoothes her hands down her own neck, drags them down her chest so that she’s cupping her tits, presses them together and passes her thumbs over her nipples. She closes her eyes and tips her head back just a bit. “I don’t know, I feel pretty good over here.”

“You look good, Princess. You look so good,” Bellamy agrees. “Can’t I help? Can’t I help you feel good?”

“Since you asked so nicely,” Clarke tells him and takes the two steps forward she needs to drop into his lap. His arms close around her like they were spring loaded, pulling her close, smoothing up over her spine to catch her face and pull her down so he can kiss her, rough and hungry.

“Such a tease.” He says it almost like he’s proud. “Driving me up the fucking wall while I’m waiting over here just to get my hands on you.” He tilts her head and bites quick and stinging at her throat. Clarke gasps, rocks down into his thigh and Bellamy smirks into her neck. “I can feel how hot you are, baby, are you wet too?”

He gets his hand between them, into her panties, and his fingers come away slick. “I thought so, Princess. You got yourself all worked up putting on a show, didn’t you?”

Clarke pulls against the restraining hand he’s fisted in her hair so she can kiss him, his words making her hot. She curls her fingers in his hair at the base of his head and tugs a bit. He growls into her mouth and finds her tits, giving them a squeeze hello before he works her nipples between his fingers. She grinds down against him again, feels how hard he is through his jeans and moans into his mouth.

“I’m not the only one,” she says, tearing her mouth away and scratching her nails into his scalp. He drops his head back against her hands, and opens his eyes slow and hot to look up at her.

“No, you got me all worked up too, babe. You feel how hard you got me? That’s all for you, Clarke.” He ducks forward to draw one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking at it in hot pulses that make Clarke rock down against him helplessly. Bellamy settles his hands on her thighs to help her stay balanced. He squeezes the muscle and rubs his thumb at the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, pulling a bit at the skin there. It makes Clarke feel empty and wanting. She makes a noise in the back of her throat.

“Let’s take care of you, huh?” He shifts a bit so she’s balancing on one of his thighs and uses the leverage he has on her hips to rock her down against his leg, the rough denim smoothed by the soft fabric of her underwear. Clarke feels him tense his leg up under her, brace his leg on the floor against her so when she grinds down again her clit gets more friction. “There you go,” Bellamy says warmly, “That’s right.”

Clarke grips his shoulders and rocks down into him, rough and messy, tilting her head invitingly until Bellamy gets the hint and mouths at her neck. It’s hot and selfish and the wet slide of her panties against her clit gives Clarke a thrill of something nasty in her stomach. She loves it.

“Look at you,” Bellamy says into her skin. “Look at you getting yourself off on my leg. Damn, Clarke, is it good? You like rubbing your cunt on me?”

She nods frantically and ducks her head searching for his mouth. He meets her and gives her an open mouthed kiss, pressing his tongue into her mouth and fucking it in slow, a dirty promise that has Clarke twisting against him, sucking at his tongue, chasing her pleasure without finesse or show. Bellamy lets go of one of her hips and slides his hand up the curve of her waist to cup one of her tits, pinching lightly at one nipple before switching to the other, tugging and making her moan with it.

“I can tell you’re close, huh, baby?” he flexes his leg against her and Clarke shudders reduced to just a rabid back and forth drag of her hips against him. “Yeah, yeah Clarke, you got it. God you’re so fucking sexy, come on, baby, come on. Use me to make yourself come.” He bites down into the meat of her shoulder and the spike of pain singing along her nerves already saturated with pleasure is what pushes Clarke over the edge. She shakes, falling forward against his body as she whines with it and hears Bellamy’s soft “oh fuck yeah,” as she presses her forehead into his shoulder.

He rubs his hand on her lower back, soothingly and a little provocatively and Clarke shifts against him. God, her panties are completely drenched and when she leans back a bit she can see she’s made a mess of his jeans. The sight makes her cunt clench and she turns her head to mouth at his neck, feeling Bellamy chuckle low in his throat.

“Insatiable,” he says, fondly and tugs on her hair so he can look at her. “What do you need?” He flexes his hips up to get a little friction against his dick. “Tell me, baby.”

“I want to ride you,” Clarke tells him, grinds down against him to give him some of the sweet sensation he had given her, shivering at the friction against her clit. “I want you inside me.”

Bellamy groans and stops her movement, gets her to stand up just enough that he can strip her panties down her legs. “Aw, Clarke, you’re so wet, that’s so fucking hot,” Bellamy groans as he teases his fingers over her. “God, you really got off on that, didn’t you?’

“Yeah,” she whines as he pulls her back down. “It was hot, Bellamy, it felt so good.” Clarke works his jeans open even as she grinds back down against his thigh, the worn denim rough and good against her clit.

She strokes his cock, squeezes the head; the girth of it in her hand makes her feel even emptier. She wants him inside her so badly it’s driving her crazy. “Condom?” She asks against his mouth when she leans in to kiss him.

Bellamy arches up under her and reaches across the couch for his jacket, pulling a condom from the pocket. He offers it to her between two fingers and Clarke snatches it from him. She tears it open with her teeth and Bellamy swears as she fists his cock in quick, firm strokes before rolling it down on him.

“Come on,” Bellamy tugs at her hips, “I gotta get inside you, Princess. I want to feel your cunt.”

Clarke sinks down onto him, hard and fast. “Fuck!” Bellamy gasps, grabbing at her. “Oh fuck, you’re so tight, Clarke. Your cunt feels so good.” Clarke moans in agreement. He’s so big inside her, the stretch of him almost too much. She tightens her fingers in his shirt and realizes for the first time that he’s still fully clothed, the bite of his zipper against her ass pleasantly offsetting the sweet pleasure in her cunt and nipples. She drops her forehead to his shoulder, letting herself breath and adjust to the size of him.

He rubs her back a bit, and turns his head to set his teeth gently into the cartilage of her ear. “Ok?” He asks her, just a puff of breath against her skin and it makes she shiver.

“Yeah,” she whispers back. “Feels good.” She clenches around him and moans. “Really good,” she amends. She rocks against him, the head of his cock dragging just right inside her and she bites sharply into the tendon of his neck and Bellamy grunts.

“Damn, you’ve got teeth, babe.” He shifts his hips up and he’s so deep inside her, Clarke has to close her eyes against the sweet intensity of it. “Shit, you feel so good, Clarke.” He tugs her hair so she sits up a bit and he can kiss her, drawing her bottom lip into his mouth and worrying it between his teeth. Clarke gasps and grinds down against him, rubbing her clit against him. She rolls her hips, chasing the grind of his cock inside her, the friction of his abs against her clit and it’s so hot.

“Yeah, baby,” Bellamy says, low and hot, “yeah, fuck yourself on my dick.” He shifts under her, flexes his hips until her breath catches and she grabs at him again, trying to keep him still, keep him at that perfect angle that every movement punches a desperate noise out of her.

“Right there,” she snaps, “Bellamy, right there.” She manages to collect her legs underneath herself enough to slide up and drop herself back down hard, and Bellamy grabs at her hips, rough.

“Yeah, Princess, yeah right there. God,” he growls, fingers pressing so hard into her skin she thinks they’ll leave a perfect dark imprint each. “Yeah, bounce on it.”

He urges her up further, until just the head of his cock is still inside her and then pulls her back down hard, making them both groan and the hot slide of it inside her. “Like that?” he asks as he mouths at her chin, “That feel good?”

“Mm,” she agrees, beyond words and lost to how big he feels, how deep. He presses a hand low into her stomach and grinds up into her and Clarke gasps, high in her throat, his cock rubbing just right into her. “Fuck, Bellamy. Yes.”

“Yeah, yeah, Clarke. Fuck, you feel so good. Come on, baby, bounce on my cock. Make yourself feel good.”

Clarke does, a short slide up and down, keeping his cock right where she wants it inside her, clenching her cunt around him so that he swears into her tits where he’s mouthing at her.

His forehead is sweaty against her skin and Clarke grabs at his hair just to mess it up, curls her fingers behind his ears to hold him close as he bites at her nipples and whines in her throat.

“Please, Bellamy.”

He grips her harder and fucks up into her, keeping her hips still for him. He releases her nipple and looks up at her. “What do you need, baby?”

“Touch me,” Clarke gasps. “Please, I want your hands.”

Bellamy groans and manages to fit his right hand between their hips and settles his thumb on her clit, rubbing circles into her the way he knows drives her crazy. “Mm, you’re close aren’t you?” Bellamy asks, voice like gravel, “Love touching you like this, you’re so sexy when you fall apart, Clarke.”

Breathless, Clarke nods helplessly. His thumb is so sweet on her, making her cunt tighten on his cock, making her slicker and more desperate, getting her closer to coming. He switches from circles on her clit to short, quick rubs, his thumb vibrating against her. “Fuck,” Clarke grits out, overwhelmed. “Fuck, fuck!”

“Oh yeah,” Bellamy moans, his hips snapping up hard into her. “Oh yeah, Clarke. Come on.” He sucks one of her nipples back into his mouth and bites it, laves his tongue over it. She clenches down on him, close and desperate and Bellamy swears suddenly, his thrusts lose their rhythm, his thumb stilling against her as he comes.

“Shit,” he breathes into her skin, forehead creased and Clarke can feel him pulse inside her, spilling into the condom. She rocks down onto him and he actually whines, high in his throat, head dropping back against the couch. “Christ, Clarke, you’re too much. Fuck, you feel so good.”

Clarke kisses his neck gently, making him shiver, and he flexes his fingers into her hips. He slides her up off him and deposits her on the couch turning over so he’s braced above her, grinning down as he strips off the condom and drops it on the package she had abandoned on the table.

“Haven’t forgotten about you, Princess. Don’t you worry.” He kisses her, quick and rough, and then keeps her pressed into the couch with a hand on her shoulder as he settles back between her legs. He slides three fingers, easy as anything into her and Clarke gasps as he grinds them up into her, pressing and crooking his fingers just the way she likes. She’s so close and suddenly her orgasm is rushing over her as Bellamy closes his lips sweetly over her clit and gives her a gentle suck. It lasts and lasts and Clarke has to clench her teeth against the waves of it, prolonged by Bellamy’s attentions.

He keeps his fingers in her and his tongue lazy on her as she comes down from it, chest heaving. When he grins up at her, mouth wet, she realizes she’s been pulling at his hair.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, gentling her grip and smoothing his hair back from his forehead.

“Don’t be,” he says as he slides up her body and kisses her the way he likes to after sex, sloppy and lazy, slow and deep. It honestly makes Clarke kinda hot, but her body is still shuddering and her clit still sending aftershocks through her pleasantly. Anything more right now would be painful.

Bellamy crowds her against the back of the couch so he can fit himself alongside her and she turns so they’re lying face to face, slick bodies touching on each breath. Bellamy brushes the hair off of her sticky forward and lets his hand settle back on the nape of her neck, squeezing gently, thumb finding a knot and pressing into it. She sighs and leans back into it, enjoying the soft pressure.

“Hold a lot of tension in your neck?” Bellamy asks, a bit drowsy.

She hums. “Neck and shoulders.”

“Remind me to actually give you a back rub sometime when you haven’t fucked all the energy out of me.”

“You’ve got a deal.” They doze a bit, she thinks, and when Clarke blinks awake the clock illuminated by the flickering light of the TV reads close to one. Bellamy is asleep next to her, arm draped comfortably over her shoulders, face tucked into the pillow in a way that she knows is going to result in pattern marks. She says his name and he opens his eyes slowly, smiling a bit when he sees her.

“Hey,” he says, sleep gruff.

“Want to stay tonight?” She rubs the arm on her shoulder and his smile softens.

“I like your bed,” he admits. “It’s so comfortable.”

“And close,” Clarke agrees. “Come on.” She herds him off the couch and into her room. Bellamy shucks his clothing and collapses into her bed, naked and already hogging the blankets. She hesitates and then takes pity on him, scooping up his jeans and attacking the evidence of their activities with a wet washcloth in the bathroom. When she’s satisfied, she crawls back into bed with him, stealing back her part of the duvet. She had assumed Bellamy was already asleep, but as she settles in his hand finds hers under the covers and he squeezes her fingers once.

***

Professor Kane is an old friend of her dad, and due to her busy, non-collegiate schedule, they’ve worked out a deal for Clarke to take his Psych class. As long as she shows up to the exams at the time they’re administered, Kane has agreed to allow her attendance grade to rest on a private, one hour meeting each week. Clarke likes him: he’s fair and thoughtful and pushes her academically. As she packs up her things one afternoon, Kane leans back in his chair and smiles at her. “I’m having dinner with your mother tomorrow night. Do you want to join us?”

Clarke returns her smile but shakes her head. “Thanks, but I’m working at the clinic.”

“You’re enjoying it?” Kane asks her sincerely. “I know Abby thinks that you’re trying to-“

“Prove a point. I know.” Clarke finishes for him and shakes her head again. “No, I do like it. It feels like what I’m supposed to be doing right now.”

“It’s rare for someone your age to feel that way. And I know your father would be proud of you.” He stands up to see her out. “Chapter Five for next week, and of course your midterm is Friday.”

Clarke thanks him and zips up her hoodie. She cuts down two floors and then crosses the third floor to get to the central staircase. Her dad’s office is directly below on the second floor and Clarke hates walking past it, not after spending childhood afternoons coloring under his desk as he worked. Not after what happened there.

In front of her, an office door opens and a short, worried looking girl with braids wrapped around her head steps out. Bellamy Blake follows her and leans his shoulder against the doorframe. Clarke had forgotten he had his office in this building and she slows in surprise. Bellamy sees her and looks surprised as well but gives her a small wave and Clarke dawdles. It’s been a few days since she’s seen him and she realizes suddenly that she’s missed him.

“Listen, Charlotte,” Bellamy says, slouching a bit so he’s not towering over the girl, “I know you’re stressed about midterms, but your essays have been good so far, and from what I can tell, you have a fine grasp of the material. Let’s see how this exam goes and if it’s a rough one, I promise I will personally help you find a tutor, ok?”

Charlotte bites her lip and nods. “Ok,” she agrees.

Bellamy pats her shoulder tentatively. “You’re smart. You’ve got this. And remember, college is also supposed to be about having fun. Don’t let this exam feel like it’s going to be your make or break moment.”

“Thanks, Bellamy,” Charlotte says and smiles at him, still a bit worried but looking a bit happier. He returns her smile easily and waits for her to walk down the corridor a bit before turning to Clarke.

“Princess. What are you doing here?”

“Psych. I didn’t know you had office hours at this time,” Clarke says as she saunters over and leans against the opposite doorframe. “Is this your office?” She glances into the cramped room. There’s a single window behind the small desk, and a bookcase filled with worn looking books. There’s a small succulent sitting next to Bellamy’s laptop that practically screams Octavia.

“Welcome to hell,” Bellamy says blandly and steps back into the room to close his laptop. “Two days before exams and I’ve got to hold extra office hours for both my classes. I’ve been seeing students all afternoon for review. My brain is fried.” He scrubs a hand through his hair and sighs. “I could use a drink right now.”

“Want company?” Clarke offers and Bellamy smiles.

“I wouldn’t say no. What are your feelings on the campus bar? Beer’s cheap and food’s awful.”

“What a dream,” Clarke says and waits for Bellamy to shuffle all his things into orderly piles and pack up his laptop. He locks the door behind him and they walk the short distance to the bar. It’s dark and a bit dingy, and Clarke has to blink a few times to let her eyes adjust after the bright sunlight outside. There are a few students sitting around the tables, some working, some clearly taking a break from studying with their friends. The bar counter itself is empty as Clarke and Bellamy pull out the high-legged chairs and sit at one end, nodding at the bartender. “So is Charlotte one of your admirers?” Clarke teases Bellamy. 

“Thank god, no. She’s only seventeen, came to college early. She’s a good kid, just worries a lot about everything. I’ll have the Stout on draft,” Bellamy tells the bartender and Clarke orders a seasonal IPA. “Anyway, sounds like she’s interested in Classics, so I’m trying to not scare her off too much. The department is small enough as it is.”

“Yes, you’re very scary in your glasses,” Clarke says and he rolls his eyes, self consciously plucking them off his face and tucking them into the collar of his shirt. The bartender sets down their glasses in front of them and Bellamy raises his glass.  
“To surviving the semester,” he toasts.

“To surviving the next two weeks,” Clarke responds and touches her glass to his.

“Why did you study Classics?” Clarke asks him after a moment. “I don’t think I would have ever guessed you’d be interested in it.”

“Uh, habit I guess,” Bellamy says after a moment as he takes a sip of his beer. “It’s a long story.”

Clarke raises and eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. Bellamy smiles a bit at her, and shakes his head.

“I guess it started before O was born, my mom liked to tell me some of the stories. She thought The Iliad and The Odyssey were beautiful. I guess they just stuck in my head, stories about heroes and gods. To me, they were comforting.”

“I can see that,” Clarke says and takes a sip of her beer, leaning her chin on her hand and watching Bellamy, watching him consider his next thought.

“And then, with Octavia…” Bellamy starts and trails off, rubbing his thumb on the rim of his glass, frowning. Clarke doesn’t push. Bellamy does this sometimes, struggles to phrase things that weigh heavy on him.

“I used to go the library,” Bellamy says after a moment, “when I was younger, and I’d memorize the myths so I could tell them to O. The stories would help keep her calm. My mom, she…” Bellamy trails off again and glances at Clarke, eyes shuttered and distant. “Sorry,” he says suddenly. “This isn’t… I don’t talk about this sorta thing.”

Clarke reaches out and lays her hand carefully on Bellamy’s forearm. “You don’t have to tell me. But you can, if you want,” she says. “I know from Octavia that things weren’t always easy, even before your mom passed.”

“Yeah… yeah my mom, she tried her best. I don’t know, we didn’t have a lot of money, and my dad split pretty early, so it was just her trying to figure out how to take care of two kids. And she was proud, probably too proud, didn’t want to go to the State for help or money, so she fell in with some bad people. To this day, I don’t even know what it was she got into.” He scrubs his hand along his jaw, thinking.

“She was careful, tried to keep it out of the house as much as she could so we didn’t get involved. But with that sort of thing, she only had so much control. The deeper she got, the less she could separate her home life from it.”

Bellamy is squinting into his beer like he can’t quite believe he’s telling her this, like it’s hard to put into words.Clarke squeezes his arm gently, reassuring, and Bellamy flashes her a small smile.

“I was older, old enough she could send me over to a friend’s house or out to the park for an hour or two. But O… O was so little and we didn’t live in the best of neighborhoods. So my mom tried to make it a game, had Octavia hide in the closet in the dark when people came home with her, had her be as quiet as possible and if she won she would get a prize.

“It only worked for so long, before O got scared, She was just four- she didn’t understand why my mom looked so scared or why there were voices in the house she didn’t recognize, why she had to sit in the dark. She started to be afraid of the dark. Octavia who wasn’t afraid of spiders or bugs, she started crying every time my mom would tell her to hide, had panic attacks, nightmares… So I started to stay with her. I made up games we could play, or I told her stories, but after a while I ran out… so the myths. She liked those. You know, when I was ten or eleven,” Bellamy chuckles, “I probably knew every goddamn Greek or Roman myth out there.”

Clarke’s heart aches for Bellamy and Octavia. She thinks about the two children huddled alone in the dark with a desperate scared mother trying to do right by them in all the wrong ways. Thinks about the way Octavia sometimes looks at Bellamy now, like he hung the moon. How Bellamy looks at Octavia like she’s his North Star. She squeezes his arm again and is glad her voice sounds normal when she says, “I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”

Bellamy shrugs and looks at her, head cocked to one side. “It was only for a little while. I managed to convince our mom that I could take O out of the house, and things got better after that. But… I guess that’s just a long way of saying that when I got to college, Classics just seemed easy. It was the safe option, something that was familiar and… and kind of comforting in a way. I could focus on taking care of O at the same time. I could get the grades ROTC needed to keep supplying me with a scholarship and stipend and that kept us afloat.”

“Octavia is lucky to have you. Seriously, Bellamy,” Clarke insists when he makes an indifferent noise, shrugging. “She’s lucky to have you.”

“She’s my little sister,” Bellamy says quietly. “What else was I supposed to do?” He looks at her like he’s honestly asking, like maybe she can give him an answer he had never thought of before.

“I don’t know,” Clarke says honestly, fiercely. “But you did the right thing. You did good, Bellamy. I would bet you anything that Octavia is who she is today because of you.”

Bellamy smiles at that, a bit toothily and proud. “Well, she turned out alright, didn’t she? Likes boys too much though.”

Clarke snorts. “Yeah, that’s probably not something you could train out of Octavia any time soon.”

“I could probably still try. You can’t convince her to date girls, can you? I would worry so much less if she liked girls.”

“One, girls can be just as awful. And two,” Clarke says, “I am not trying to seduce your little sister. Sleeping with one Blake sibling is more than enough for me.”

Bellamy chokes on his beer. “God, Clarke,I said convince not seduce. Please don’t sleep with Octavia. As far as I’m concerned, she and Lincoln are waiting until marriage and she doesn’t even know what sex is.”

“Oh Bellamy,” Clarke can’t help her laugh, “Oh you just keep thinking that.”

“I’m going to. Please don’t ruin it for me.” 

“I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try my best,” Clarke assures him and ignores how Bellamy’s amused smile, free and wide on his face, warms her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently my tumblr is moonlighting as a blog about the 100. Come hang with [me](http://verbam.tumblr.com)


	4. November

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A HUGE thank you to cetaprincipessa on tumblr for all her motivation and beta-reading skills. She's a true delight and gift. 
> 
> And thanks to everyone leaving comments and kudos! It's so great to hear what you all are thinking. 
> 
> And just to be mindful of any triggers, this chapter features a character experiencing a mild anxiety attack as well as mentions of very slight self harm as a coping mechanism and discussion of character death.

Clarke is waiting for Raven in their favorite divey lunch spot when her phone pings with a new facebook notification. It’s from Octavia and when Clarke taps it open, it’s a new event entitled “Friendsgiving 2k15”. Clarke snorts. The event photo is a picture of Octavia and Bellamy as children, sitting at a nicely set table, grinning at the camera and holding their silverware up as if they were about to cut into the plates of pie in front of them. Clarke likes it before she scrolls down to read the description.

_It’s FRIENDSgiving time, y’all. Why go see your lame families (I’m just kidding your families are beautiful, but still lame sorry) when you could be getting krunk with the coolest kids you know?? Bellamy and I are officially hosting a traditional Blake Thanksgiving this year at Lincoln’s apartment (thanks bae!) and we want all you losers to be there._

_Come eat pie, drink some pretty awesome cocktails (Monty you’re bartending, surprise!) and marathon all the Thanksgiving episodes of FRIENDS with us. They’ll probably be other Thanksgiving food groups too, if you like that sorta thing. If you don’t come you’re dead to me (jk but not really)._

_Xoxo_

_O and Bell_

Below it, Octavia has posted a few photos that seem to span several of her teenage years. They are of her and Bellamy sitting propped up against the ratty old couch she now has in her apartment, plates of pie in their laps and grinning at the camera Bellamy’s holding out in front of them. Octavia has bangs in a few and there are shadows under her eyes, but in every picture she’s grinning straight at the camera. Bellamy has his patented high school slicked back hair in the first one, but in the rest his hair is the curly mess Clarke has always known him to have. There’s clear exhaustion in his eyes and in the lines of his face, but the way he looks at Octavia, fierce love and devotion bright in his eyes and a goofy grin on his face that Clarke has only recently come to recognize, makes him look very young.

She likes the photos and taps out a quick reply about attending. She searches back through her facebook and finds a photo from her sophomore year. It’s of her and Octavia sitting on Clarke’s dorm bed, eating pie and making funny faces at the camera. It’s one of her favorite photos of them.

“Hey!” Raven says as she drops down next to her at the counter. “What are you looking at?”

“Did you see this?” Clarke offers her the phone to Raven and swivels on her stool so their knees press together. Raven takes the phone reads the description with a smirk.

“Classic Octavia,” Raven laughs. “You’re going?”

“Probably. My mom says she wants to do a Thanksgiving dinner, but usually things get kind of crazy at the last minute. Most likely we’ll do our family thing around the holidays, when she can take more time off.” She passes Raven one of the paper menus. “What about you?”

“Pie and alcohol? Count me in. Plus, it’ll give me a reason to tell Wick I can’t go to his parent’s place.” Raven barely bothers to read the menu, she tends to get the same thing each time they come here. Clarke, having just finished her psych midterm earlier that morning has been considering treating herself to an eggplant parm. She glances up at Raven at that, though.

“He wants you to meet his parents?”

“Yeah, and get this: he wants us to go stay with them for the entire Thanksgiving weekend.” Raven shakes her head and tries to catch the waitress’s attention.

“And that’s…” Clarke prompts carefully.

“That’s a lot,” Raven says.

The waitress leans across the counter and smiles at them. “What’ll it be?” They put in their orders and Clarke turns back to Raven, brow furrowed.

“You guys have been dating for six months now though, right? I mean, isn’t it kind of serious?”

“Well yeah, but like, ‘Meeting Parents’ Serious?” Raven wonders, picking at a loose thread in her sweater. “I don’t know.”

While Clarke had never met Finn’s parents, for obvious reasons in retrospect, one of Raven’s slurred, drunken confessions when Clarke had dragged her out after they had both dumped Finn had been that she had loved his parents. She had met them right after they started dating and for the four years of their relationship, she had been loved by them like a daughter. Clarke had tucked her into bed that night and then crawled into Octavia’s bed back in their small college apartment and let her friend braid her hair until she had fallen asleep.

“Hey,” Clarke says, knocking her knee against Ravens. “I’m sure they’re wonderful.”

“Yeah, sure.” Raven smiles at her brightly but the look in her eye warns Clarke how close she’s walking to Raven’s fine line of vulnerability. “So what do you think you’ll bring to this Friendsgiving?”

“I don’t know!” Clarke says, happily following her lead. “I make really good mashed potatoes. It’s a secret family recipe.”

“Please tell me they have copious amounts of butter and sour cream in them?”

“Oh, they definitely do.”

“Is this something you got from your mom?” When Clarke nods Raven grins, delighted. “Yes Mama-A! I know your mom is a hard ass, but you can’t deny it, Griffin, the woman can make a mean meal.”

“I hear you,” Clarke says lightly. “What are you going to bring?”

It’s a typical lunch for them. They laugh a lot into their sandwiches and Clarke snorts water out of her nose when Raven relays a particularly dirty joke that Monty told her that morning.

“That’s the thing,” Clarke protests, still laughing. “If he and Miller ever get together, they would be too snarky to handle. We’d never know when they were kidding and when they were serious.”

“Speaking of serious,” Raven says, studying her pastrami sandwich with deceptive sincerity. “How is the mysterious Bill?”

“A beautiful non-sequitur, but I’m not biting.” Clarke tells her blandly.

“You’re still seeing him?” Raven asks, undaunted.

“Occasionally,” Clarke hedges. “Like I’ve told you before, it’s still casual.”

“I don’t know…” Raven starts but Clarke threatens her with her greasy fingers close her shirt: it’s one of Raven’s few actually nice blouses.

“Don’t think I won’t stain the shit out of your shirt if you keep pushing, Reyes.”

“Easy! Goddamn, Griffin. A girl is allowed to wonder after her best friend’s fuckbudy situation every now and then.” Raven leans away from her with a laugh and Clarke lets her go, wipes her fingers on a napkin and then squeezes Raven’s knee.

“I know. Thank you. But I promise, I’ve got this. This isn’t like Finn or Lexa. I’m not getting in over my head with feelings or anything like that.”

Raven covers Clarke’s hand with her own and gripes her fingers right back. “It’s not the feelings that I’m worried about, Clarke, it’s the shitty people who take advantage of them.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen primarily because there are no feelings, ok? Thank you for worrying about me, though.”

“Not going to be able to ever break me of that habit, kid,” Raven says, condescending even though she’s only a year older than Clarke. In retaliation, Clarke blows a wet raspberry into her neck that has Raven shrieking too loudly in surprise and muffling her laughter into her sandwich, kicking Clarke’s legs under the counter in retaliation.

Clarke follows Raven back to work in the afternoon since she’s taken the day off from the clinic and annoys Wick and Monty in their tiny break room. Raven locks herself in her makeshift shop, having stripped off her blouse for a greasy t-shirt she keeps on hand, and create a lot of racket in building whatever it is she’s currently working on, Clarke can’t always keep track .

After, they go to Octavia’s house and eat homemade empanadas (Octavia’s newest recipe) around her tiny cramped kitchen table, lit by artfully draped white Christmas lights. They get tipsy on a few bottles of wine, and Raven and Clarke wash dishes as Octavia dances around them to some cheesy ‘90s pop station she’s found on Pandora.

They drape themselves over each other on Octavia’s small couch to watch the latest episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine and Clarke balances the laptop on her legs. Octavia starts in on her habit of braiding Clarke’s hair and Raven leans on her, easy. Clarke loves them so much. After the episode is over, Octavia opens another bottle of wine and she and Raven stay puppy piled on the couch while Clarke sits on the floor and sketches them while they talk. The long lines of Raven’s legs, the curve of Octavia’s high forehead, she captures their smiles and wishes she could capture their laughter as well.

The rest of the weekend turns out equally low key. They go to TonDC on Saturday night to see a new DJ, but end up back at Raven’s relatively early and Octavia and Clarke sleep cuddled on Raven’s couch, too tired to head back to their own places. They get their usual brunch with Monroe, Murphy, Jasper and Monty on Sunday. Bellamy is apparently locked in his apartment grading and sending incomprehensible grumpy texts to Octavia when she sends him a snap of their table. 

Bellamy does come over the next night. He’s on the last of his midterms to grade and brings a sixpack of beer that they both like to celebrate. “Why I ever thought going back into academia was a good idea, I’ll never know,” Bellamy grumbles as he sits down heavily at her table. 

“At least you only have another semester of TA-ing,” Clarke offers as comfort and Bellamy nods. 

“Thank god for small blessings.” They work for a little while before Clarke finds that her mind is not on her psych notes. Bellamy is antsy as well: shifts in his seat, scrubs his hand through his curls, taps his pen on the table until she threatens to take it away, then does it a few more times anyway just to bug her. Clarke can see the toll that working nonstop all weekend has taken on him. 

“When was the last time you weren’t spending a night working?” Clarke asks him as Bellamy finishes up the last test with a sigh and pulls out his copy of Catullus. 

“I don’t know, maybe a couple weekends ago?” Bellamy says distractedly. “With midterms and that meeting I had with my thesis advisor…” he trails off and huffs. “It’s been a while.”

Too long, Clarke thinks and gets up from the table to grab her little box of weed and papers from her room. When she comes back out Bellamy’s still working and Clarke shakes her head, but opens her box anyway. She tsks her tongue at how little weed she has left. 

“What’s up?” Bellamy asks her without even bothering to look up.

“Just should have picked up like last week. I’ve only got a bit left.”

“Mm,” Bellamy hums unhelpfully and keeps typing. “That sucks.”

“You suck,” Clarke tells him and he sticks his foot out to trip her as she passes behind his chair to sit by the windows. 

“Come here,” she says, patting the floor next to her. “Study break.”

Bellamy glances up at her with a raised eyebrow. “If I smoke that I’m going to be done for the rest of the night.”

“So be done for the night,” Clarke insists. “Bellamy, you need to give yourself a break. You can take one night off.” He considers her, fitting his elbow on the back rail of his chair while she rolls a thin joint. She makes increasingly weird faces at him until he snorts and a smile breaks out across his face, amused in spite of himself. 

“Oh, alright.” He pulls himself out of his seat and plops down on the floor next to her. “But only because you insist.”

“Such a hardship, I know,” Clarke laughs and then pokes him with her toe. “Open the window.” Bellamy rolls his eyes but does as she asks. He grunts in surprise when she scoots forward and hooks her legs over his thighs and hips so she’s sitting between his splayed legs, face to face. “Ok, we’re going to shot gun this.”

Bellamy chuckles and drapes his arm across her bent knee, propping his chin up. “Does that even work?”

“You gotta do it right,” Clarke says as she picks her lighter up off the window sill. “Can’t hold it for longer than three seconds, but I figure we should try to conserve what we’ve got.”

“You are such a stoner,” Bellamy teases her, his mouth loose and unguarded in his smile. Clarke sticks her tongue out at him and then lights the joint and takes a hit. She leans towards Bellamy, who meets her halfway and steadies her with a hand on her jaw as she presses her lips to his and exhales into his mouth as he inhales. When she pulls back, he quirks an amused eyebrow at her and then blows the smoke out her open window. 

The sun’s just beginning to set and the smoke curls briefly against the pink and purple sky before it disappears. There’s a chill in the air and Clarke is glad for her sweater and Bellamy’s warmth close by. Bellamy steals the joint from her fingers and repeats her move, but he kisses her once she’s sucked the smoke from his mouth, tongue teasing against her lower lip. Clarke kisses him back until she has to exhale, coughing a bit as she does. Bellamy rubs her knee soothingly, grinning at her.

They trade off taking hits and their kisses get longer, more languid as the drug settles in their bodies. Bellamy gets so distracted at one point that he forgets to break the kiss and ends up coughing up smoke tendrils like a dragon, Clarke giggling until he takes another hit and blows it fast into her lungs, his tongue chasing it. 

It’s not enough to get them really high, but Clarke can feel the comfortable weight of her limbs and the press of Bellamy’s leg against her own feels good. When there’s nothing left but the filter, Clarke drops it into her ceramic bowl she uses as an ashtray and wraps her legs around Bellamy’s back to use as leverage to pull herself closer. 

“Hey,” he says with a lazy smile, indulgent when she angles herself for a proper kiss, no joint to keep track of between their bodies. The sunlight has been highlighting the fine definition of his jaw and Clarke strokes her fingers along it as she slides her tongue into his mouth. Bellamy curls his hand around her hip, strokes his fingers over the dimples in her back and then sneaks his hand under her shirt and runs his fingers up her spine. 

Clarke squirms at the light touch, ticklish, and tangles her tongue with Bellamy’s, swallowing his soft grunt. She runs her hands down over his shirt and then back up, trails her hands down his arms to squeeze his biceps. He smirks and flexes a bit for her and Clarke sighs happily, gripping the defined muscles and sucking Bellamy’s lip into her mouth to bite at gently. She feels him unhook her bra but he only takes advantage of it to continue to slow sweep of his fingers up and down her spine uninterrupted. His body feels so good under her hands and she slides them under his shirt so she can scratch at his abs, liking that she can make him shiver too. 

Clarke drags his shirt up over his head and he gets tangled in it as she tries to pull it off him. He’s laughing by the time he fights his way out of it and Clarke is giggling. His hair is more of a mess than usual and Clarke pushes it back off of his face for him. “Couch?” He hums agreeably but pulls her back in for a kiss.

They don’t even make it that far. They stay sprawled on the floor by the windows, clothes mostly just rucked up out of the way. He pulls her shirt up just high enough that he can kiss her tits and gets her leggings as far as her knees so that he can get his head between her legs. Bellamy loves to give head when he’s high, he gets lazy about it, spends a long time sucking and licking softly at her and Clarke is for once relaxed enough to let him take his time. She shivers and gasps when he traces letters over her clit with his tongue and when she comes it spreads slow through her body like molasses, leaves her shuddering on the floor, his hair in ringlets around her fingers.

She blows him after, jeans barely down his thighs, mouth sloppy and wet. She fits him into the back of her throat and swallows around him, spends time sucking at the head of his dick, tracing the veins of it with her tongue. Bellamy gathers her hair in shaking hands, head propped back against the wall, dark eyes slitted as he watches her. His mouth is red and wet and Clarke licks her taste off his lips while she jerks him off hard and fast to make him come. Bellamy breathes in gasps against her mouth and bites hard at her shoulder when he does. 

“I want to draw you,” Clarke says after, once she’s retrieved oreos from her kitchen and is sharing them with Bellamy. He’s pulled his jeans back up enough to be decent but they’re still unzipped and his easy slouch against the wall is too good to pass up.

“Ok,” Bellamy tells her. “But I’m going to keep eating these.”

When Clarke gets her sketchpad and sits down across from him he grins and rolls his shoulders back. “Draw me like one of your french girls,” he laughs and Clarke rolls her eyes. 

“I don’t know anyone who’s more of a nerd than you.”

“Have you met yourself?” Bellamy says without any bite and then goes quiet as Clarke begins to sketch him, interest reclaimed by the cookies she’s left next to him.

She draws him quickly, a wild assemblage of lines against her page make up the fall of his arms, the splay of his legs, the angle of his sharp jaw line. 

She shades in his hair, makes it messy and grins when she’s done, holding it up for his approval.

He studies it for a moment, oreo held between his teeth. “Not bad,” he admits. He steals the pad from her and flips through it. She’s filled a lot of the pages recently with sketches of her friends and different views of the city. “You’ve done a lot,” Bellamy comments. He lingers on one of Octavia and Clarke recognizes it as one she did recently where Octavia actually sat for a portrait rather than Clarke sketching her candidly. It’s a good drawing, she thinks, it captures Octavia’s soft smile and the light in her eyes well. Bellamy smooths his hand over it with the same smile reflecting off the page and looks up at Clarke. “You ever considered doing this professionally?”

Clarke shrugs as she takes back the sketchpad. “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s more of a stress reliever than something I think I would want to do professionally. Might take the fun out of it.” She puts the pad to the side and uncurls her crossed legs so they’re stretched out next to Bellamy’s. “What about you?” She knocks her foot against his and he knocks hers right back

“What about me, what?” 

“What do you want do? Be some fancy professor at some tiny liberal arts college in Ohio?”

“That’s weirdly specific.”

“I just see you surrounded by corn for some reason.”

“Thanks?”

“But seriously.” Clarke taps her toes against his ankle. “What do you want to do after you get your doctorate?”

Bellamy runs a hand over his face, a sign Clarke has come to recognize as a tick when he’s under stress. “It’s the question that keeps me awake at night,” Bellamy says slowly. “Do you know? I have no idea what I should do after this.”

The word ‘should’ sticks out to Clarke and she cocks her head. “Well, in an ideal world, what would you want to do?”

Bellamy looks at her a bit helplessly, smiles a bit self-deprecatingly and shakes his head. “I honestly don’t know, Clarke.” She would push him further but the look in his eyes stops her. It’s the look of someone who’s lost and without direction. It strikes a chord deep within her: she’s felt that directionless terror too.

“Alright,” she says carefully. “Why did you go back to school then? Could you see yourself being a professor?”

“Maybe,” Bellamy shrugs and then frowns. Clarke gives him the moment to think and studies the yellow ducks on her socks. “Honestly,” Bellamy says slowly, “I went back to school because it was the only thing I could think to do once I got out of the army.” Clarke looks up at him and he’s staring at their feet, brow furrowed. 

“It was the first time in my life when I didn’t know exactly what I supposed to do… Octavia was graduating, my mom was dead, my debt was paid to the military… the only thing I knew how to do besides take care of O and kill people was to be a student. What do I do when I can’t do that anymore?”

Clarke struggles to not let her breath catch in her throat at Bellamy’s raw honesty. She wonders what it was like to have your life feel like it’s been set out for you from a young age, where every step taken was for the benefit of those around you. She wonders when the last time Bellamy actively wanted something that was selfish, let alone the last time he actually pursued something for himself. He looks up at her and there’s the same searching expression he gave her at the bar last week, looking at her like she might have the answer, like he needs her to have the answer.

“I don’t think you have to have the big picture,” Clarke says slowly. “I don’t think anyone our age does. I think the best way to figure it out is start with one thing. Just something small that you want to do or you like and you go from there.”

Bellamy shakes his head like he doesn’t understand. “And what’s that supposed to be?”

“It can be whatever the hell you want, Bellamy,” Clarke says lightly and is pleased to see a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “Really, once you know just one thing that you want, it gets easier. That’s how I ended up working at Lincoln’s shop. That’s how I ended up at the clinic. I knew I didn’t want to go to Harvard and that was the first step. But you don’t even have to know what that is right now,” she adds quickly. “You have all the time in the world.”

Bellamy tips his head back against the wall and sighs, but she sees relief etched in his body. “Well, at least until I graduate next June.”

“You’ve got a year and a half. I’d call that all the time in the world.” 

**

November always feels like it drags in a way that September and October don’t. Most of the leaves have changed and fallen and the weather gives itself over to moody grey skies rather than the high, cheerful blue ones of early fall. Clarke’s hours at the clinic go a little haywire as the weather gets colder and some of the homeless teens start showing up with symptoms of mild exposure. Clarke makes an effort to collect old sweaters and jackets from her friends to bring into the clinic to give to the kids who don’t have much more than a t-shirt on their back.

Her group of friends start planning more evenings in and Monroe establishes a weekly movie night at her apartment she shares with her roommate, a quiet but nice girl named Harper. Octavia and Raven keep turning up at Clarke’s to cook dinner with her and Bellamy makes his evening appearances. Some nights he stays over and in the morning actually wakes up and makes coffee while Clarke showers, swearing grumpily at her machine and muttering under his breath about grading or writing he hasn’t finished. They never linger in the morning- Bellamy sometimes leaves before she gets out of the shower to head to the academic buildings to get in some work before his first class. 

Due to some exceptionally poor decision making, Clarke answers a call from her mom right after she gets Bellamy’s text that he’s coming over on a Thursday afternoon the week before Thanksgiving. She’s been feeling good, a light day at the clinic had left her time for a run and the weather wass finally cold enough to justify pulling out some of her favorite leg warmers and not look ridiculous. She’s relaxed and happy; aided with a cup of strong coffee and the promise of sex later, she figures she can handle her mom.

When she opens the door for Bellamy half an hour later, she’s chewing on her thumbnail and contributing when she can with monosyllabic answers. She gives Bellamy a wan smile and holds up a finger to indicate she’ll only be another minute, waving him into her apartment. He lifts an eyebrow at her but makes himself at home in her kitchen. She watches him as she walks circles around her coffee table; he pulls out the leftover coffee from the fridge where she had left it for him to chill. He makes two tall glasses of it, plunks a few ice cubes in and adds his usual milk and sugar to his before he unpacks his bag at the table. He glances at her questioningly and Clarke shakes her head.

“Listen, mom,” Clarke finally interrupts, “I’ve just had a friend come over and… it’s Raven, mom. But I gotta go, ok? I can….” Clarke trails off and bites her lip, fidgets with the hem of her sweater. “Ok, I’ll call you tonight. I know… I know… okay. I love you too.” She hangs up the phone with a sharp jab of her thumb and tosses it on the couch, musses her hair up with her hands and lets out a shaky breath.

“Tough talk?” Bellamy asks as she stalks over to the table and sits down next to him.

“What? Oh, yeah. Kinda.” Clarke shrugs, not meeting his eyes. He pulls the same trick she’s known Octavia to, ducking his face to try to catch her eye and Clarke turns away a bit on the pretense of taking a sip of coffee. “Thanks,” she says gesturing to the cup. 

“No problem. You, uh, you want to talk about it?” Bellamy offers.

“No. It’s not a big deal. I’m good.” Clarke dismisses him, a bit brusquely, and flips open her psych textbook. Bellamy hums skeptically, but opens his computer and settles his dog-eared copy of Catullus on his lap. Clarke flips open her notebook and frowns at her handwriting, at the loops of the ls and the slant of her letters. It looks messy and chaotic right now.

She can’t concentrate on the words in her textbook long enough to transcribe them to her notes. She takes a low breath, trying to calm herself as her mind starts to replay the conversation she’s just had with her mom. Her skin feels tight and uncomfortable and her heart is going too fast. The normal, small noises of her apartment startle her- the click of the fridge turning on, the creak of the house settling, the tap of branches against her window.

Abby’s voice rings in her head, frustrated, disappointed, tired. Clarke’s stomach churns. She curls her fingernails into her palm, not enough to break the skin, just enough pressure to keep her grounded, help her focus back on the page in front of her. She starts to copy down a sentence and halfway through loses track of where she had found it on the page. She shifts as subtly as she can to relieve the nervous energy that’s pulsing in her legs and arms, tries to take another slow breath and feels it catch a bit in her throat.

“Hey,“ Bellamy says softly and Clarke flinches and looks up to see him looking at her, frowning. He reaches out and takes her hand where it’s balled on a fist on the table. He turns her palm over and strokes over her fingers. She self consciously uncurls them and Clarke sees him wince in sympathy at the red crescents her nails have left.

“Come here for a minute,” Bellamy says. Keeping her hand trapped in his, he sets down his book on the table and stands up, tugs her up with him and leads her toward the couch. Clarke goes with him, keeping her eyes down because she knows they’re getting red. God, he must think she’s pathetic. 

Bellamy flops on the couch, scooting to fit his back into the arm of the couch and stretch his legs out across the seat. Clarke stands mutely at his side until he pulls so she sits down between his legs and then he wraps an arm around her middle and hauls her so that her back is resting against his chest. He wraps his arms just under her breasts and gives her a squeeze, holding her close.

“Back when we were growing up,” Bellamy says softly by her ear, “and, you know, Octavia started having those panic attacks, this helped calm her down, sometimes.” Clarke nods, but she feels stiff and awkward in his arms. She wants to relax and opens her mouth to say so. “Sorry,” she manages, “I’m just-“

“Clarke,” Bellamy interrupts her gently, “you don’t need to apologize. Whatever is going on right now, I can tell it’s upsetting you. You can tell me if you want. Or we can just sit here for a bit, if it helps.” He strokes his thumb slowly over her ribs. “Is this helping?” he asks, a bit uncertainly.

“Yeah,” Clarke says, softly. “This is nice. Thank you.” And it is. His warm chest against her back, his arms around her front anchoring her close, it feels good, helps begin to quell the high buzz of her thoughts. She tries to take a calming breath but feels it rasp in her throat, harsh. Bellamy takes a slow breath behind her, his breathing even and deep and Clarke focuses on the rise and fall of his chest, tries to match her breathing to his. She feels her eyes sting suddenly and leans her head back against his shoulder with her eyes closed so he can’t see how close she is to crying.

“Your mom’s pretty tough on you, huh?” Bellamy wonders aloud and Clarke nods her head without looking at him, but then shrugs.

“It’s not so bad, really,” Clarke says quietly, knowing her voice is prone to break when she’s like this. She’s not sure she has all that much to complain about but Bellamy hums thoughtfully, close to her ear.

“My mom,” Clarke says after a minute of silence, the sweep of Bellamy’s thumb and his breath soothing, “is not very happy about what I’m doing. She um, wanted me to go to med school, become a doctor like her. She was the one who wanted me to do pre med in undergrad. And I did, ‘cause I… I didn’t know what else to do. Anyway, when I graduated, I realized that I didn’t want to be a doctor, not right away. So, I deferred from Harvard to work at the clinic here, just to get my bearings. When I deferred again this year, I lost my spot. Which is ok. I don’t want to go up to Boston when all my friends are here, but my mom… she thinks I’m wasting everything she’s given me, all my potential. She thinks the way I’m living is all some act of rebellion.

“She called because she set up an interview for me at her lobbying firm. She says it will be a really good first step for me to get into politics since I’m not going to go to Medical School. I told her, again, that it wasn’t what I wanted, and she just sort of…” Clarke trails off, her cheeks burning at the memory of her mom’s cold frustration and disappointment.

“That’s hard,” Bellamy says low and soft. “Do you feel like you’re letting her down?”

“Yeah,” Clarke whispers. “Kind of.”

“Listen,” Bellamy says and hooks his chin on her shoulder. “Clarke, hey, you work at a clinic for homeless teens, right? What’s not amazing about that?”

She shrugs. “Nothing,” Bellamy tells her. “Nothing is not amazing about that. You may not be wearing a white coat but you’re still changing kids’ lives, right? You’re helping them. And that’s amazing. Who cares about what medical degree you have at that point, right?”

“Yeah… I just. I was so close to my parents growing up and now my dad is gone and I feel like I’m losing my mom too.”

“You’re not an extension of your mom, Clarke,” Bellamy says low and soft against her cheek. “She can’t dictate how you live your life. You’re twenty-four, you know what’s working for you right now better than she does. And I think,” Bellamy continues carefully, “that if she raised someone like you, she’s not the type of person who’s going to abandon you just because you don’t meet her expectations.”

“Yeah,” Clarke agrees, “I know.” She shifts to sit up but Bellamy tugs her back against his chest, hooks his chin over her shoulder.

“What, your psych book is that exciting? Just sit with me for a minute,” Bellamy says gently. “You’re not bothering me.”

Clarke leans back again. He’s warm and solid against her back and when she closes her eyes and focuses on his breathing again, she feels her own even out, feels her heartbeat slow. Under his hands, against his body, the hubbub of her mind quiets and she relaxes bit by bit against him.

Bellamy feels it and he ‘hmm’s into her skin. “I’m sorry it’s rough with your mom right now.”

“When my dad was alive,” Clarke finds herself saying suddenly, “we never fought. I mean, beyond little things, you know? And now… I don’t know, I can’t remember the last time when I felt like I could talk to her.”

“When our mom died,” Bellamy says softly, “Octavia barely spoke to me for a month. Death fucking sucks.”

Clarke snorts. “Yeah, it fucking sucks,” she repeats and shakes her head.

“What happened? I mean, with your dad.”

Clarke swallows around the lump in her throat and the sudden ache in her chest. “He was killed. In his office, actually.” She hears Bellamy’s sharp intake of breath and feels her mouth curl into the defensive smile she puts on when she tells people. “It was my senior year of high school.”

Bellamy’s hands tighten around her middle. “Clarke, I had no idea-”

“No, I know. It’s ok. Octavia knows I don’t usually tell people. There was no reason you should have known.”

“Your dad was Jake Griffin, wasn’t he?” Bellamy asks her quietly after a moment. Clarke isn’t surprised, the case at the time had been high profile and GWU was still reeling from it. For Bellamy to have heard of the Engineering Professor who had co-taught a risky class on Environmental Engineering and Politics; who had publicly condemned several conservative Congressional and Senate members for mixing politics and religion; who had been confronted by a Religious Right activist late at night in his office; of the verbal altercation that turned physical and left Professor Griffin bleeding and unconscious from a head injury on his floor, undiscovered until too late, was not surprising.

But hearing Bellamy ask her now, holding her on her dad’s old couch in his old apartment he used to crash in when he worked too late to commute back to Kensington, the tragedy of it hits her fresh and she takes a shaky breath. She and her dad used to sit right here on weekends, playing mario cart. He used to cook for her in the kitchen, used to read with her while she studied for the SATs. His absence is manageable most days, his ghost present but in a comforting way. But there’s something in Bellamy’s stalwart presence surrounding her that makes the loss of her father stretch out in her future in ways that she hasn’t even begun to contemplate before. 

“He was.” Her mouth trembles and she feels her plastered on smile waver. Her eyesight is suddenly blurry and that sends her reeling. She hasn’t cried about her dad in years. The words are in her mouth before she can stop them and she says, “When he was trying to make up his mind about teaching that class, I told him he should. I told him he should teach the class that got him killed, Bellamy.” She hasn’t said the words aloud before but they’ve been there, knocking around the back of her head whenever she’s thought of her dad. Saying them now is almost a relief. 

“Clarke,” Bellamy says fiercely, “That doesn’t make what happened your fault.”

“What if it is, though? What if he only taught that class because I was so excited about him teaching it?” As she says the words out loud, she knows that they don’t make sense, but the sentiment behind them burns her, deep in her chest. She remembers listening to her dad planning his course syllabus, so excited but careful about it, weighing the pros and cons. She remembers chiming in and telling him how amazing it was going to be, how his students were going to love it. How could she have been so excited about it when it resulted in his death? “What if it is my fault?”

“It’s not,” Bellamy promises her. “Clarke, it’s not your fault.” He doesn’t say it like she’s crazy to think it or like he’s impatient. He says it with sincerity, the low pitch of his voice certain and calming. “Your dad made that decision to teach that class, and whether or not you were excited about it, it was his decision to make. And the man who killed him, he made a decision to go after your father that has nothing to do with you.” Clarke nods a bit.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just...”

“I know.” Bellamy says filling in the silence she leaves. “It’s easy to blame yourself. When my mom died, I blamed myself that I hadn’t known how to help her, how to keep her alive.”

“But you were just a kid, you… oh.” 

“So were you,” Bellamy says. Clarke shakes her head and tilts it back into Bellamy’s shoulder. There’s an ache in her chest but for the first time she feels it lessen a bit. The grief is still there, probably always will be, but the sick tinge of guilt that usually accompanies it feels less poisonous. “It’s not your fault,” Bellamy says again, so sure that Clarke thinks she might be able to believe him. The narrative of her blame that she’s told herself for the past six years seems suddenly lackluster in the presence of Bellamy’s conviction. 

“Ok,” Clarke whispers. 

“Ok,” Bellamy repeats. He tilts his head so his mouth and nose are pressed into her shoulder and the soft gust of his breath sparks a soft glow of contentment in her chest, soothing the sick feeling of her stomach. They sit together like that for a while, the silence between them without expectation. Clarke feels safe, she realizes suddenly. Safe and so thankful that Bellamy is here with her.

“Thank you.” She whispers it into his curls when she turns her head, her lips brushing his forehead. “For listening to me.”

“You listened to my sob story,” Bellamy says dryly but the tightening of his arms clues Clarke in to how much it meant to him, that afternoon in the dusty bar. “It’s the least I can do.”

He smooths his hands down to rest low and comfortable on her stomach and he cocks his head to meet her eyes. He smiles, small and reassuring and Clarke smiles back, a little lazy after her rush of emotions. “You make a good pillow,” she tells him and he chuckles. “Is this what you’re hiding under your cool guy exterior?”

“Nah, I’m cool and tough all the way through.” His hands squeeze her and it sends a zing of want through her, but it’s muted, easy. “Feeling better?”

“Much better. You want to work for a bit?”

“Mm, sure.”

They move their things from the table to the floor to chase the last of the afternoon sun and it’s warmth on the hardwood floors. Here, with Bellamy stretched along side her as he underlines passages in Catullus with a small golf pencil he picked up somewhere, Clarke finds herself the most relaxed she’s been in days. 

When he gets too hot in his button down, Bellamy strips it off and lazes back down in his undershirt, which gets rucked up around his waistline as he shifts on the floor. Clarke notices he has a habit of sticking his tongue out when he reads and when she finds her mind wandering from her notes, she sketches the musculature of Bellamy’s arms in the margins. “It’s anatomy practice,” she insists when Bellamy catches her at it.

By the time the sun has crawled the walls, their stomachs both agree that they’ve been working too long and Clarke pushes herself up to go raid the fridge. She’s not especially in the mood to cook but also doesn’t want to order in anything. She ends up making them a mixed matched salad with leftover chicken and pasta. Bellamy leans against the counter while she puts it together, stealing small pieces of the chicken to snack on and opening them both beers. 

They hoist themselves up onto her island counter to eat out of her large salad bowl rather than divy it up onto plates. 

“So,” Clarke says in the comfortable lull of conversation after they’ve exhausted the topic of which kinds of dogs are best, “I told you about my dad. What happened to your mom?”

Bellamy spears a cherry tomato on his fork and considers her as he eats it. “Drug overdose,” he finally says guardedly. “She wasn’t very happy towards the end and I think she just checked out.” He swallows and puts his fork down, leans back on his hands away from Clarke. There’s a defensiveness in his body Clarke hasn’t seen since the early days of their hanging out together and she puts her fork down as well. 

“Bellamy,” Clarke starts, but he waves abruptly, stopping her. 

“I’m not looking for pity on this one, Clarke.” It sounds harsh and she sees Bellamy wince at his own words. 

“I don’t pity you,” Clarke tells him quietly. “Nothing you or Octavia have done suggests you need it.”

He looks at her, genuine surprise written across his features. “I was going to say I admire you. Both of you. You all were dealt a shitty hand and you came out on top of it. And it sounds like your mom tried to as well, even if she didn’t make it there in the end.”

“She did try,” Bellamy says, voice raw, “For a long time. I don’t think O remembers that about her.”

Clarke looks down at her hands; she doesn’t think Octavia does either. “Even if that’s the case, it doesn’t change the fact that you know she did.”

Bellamy is quiet and when she looks up at him again he’s looking at her with an unreadable expression. When she cocks her head questioningly he shakes his own and sighs. “It’s apparently the day for confessions about our parents.” Clarke laughs in agreement.

“Something in the air, I guess.”

“Probably,” Bellamy says with a smile, his voice cocksure again. “What do you say we end our sharing circle there for the time being.”

“I can get behind that motion.” Bellamy leers at her. “One track mind,” she tells him.

Bellamy offers to wash the bowl the forks and Clarke leaves him to it to go find a sweater since the temperature drops in her apartment after sundown. She’s rummaging through her drawers, looking for one of her favorite sweaters, an old ratty one of her father’s from when he was in college when she hears Bellamy’s footsteps and smiles. One track mind indeed.

“Hey.” She turns her head and sees Bellamy’s followed her to her room, hands over head and braced on the door frame of her bedroom. Shit, but it does nice things to his arms. He’s looking at her bedside table and Clarke follows his gaze and realizes she’s left her little blue bullet vibrator out on her nightstand. Oh.

Bellamy looks up at her with a delighted look on his face. “Is that your vibrator, Clarke? Do you use that?”

“It’s one of them,” she says as she pulls on her sweater. When she gets her head through, Bellamy’s picked up the bullet and is looking at her with intrigue. “One?”

“Yeah, I have a couple. You know, you gotta treat yourself sometimes.”

“Huh.” Bellamy clicks the vibrator on and Clarke can hear the soft buzz of it across the room. Bellamy looks surprised by how powerful it is and presses the button again, clicking through the three settings on the little plastic bullet before it turns off. “Gotta treat yourself,” Bellamy repeats and looks up at her with sudden mischief. “Can I see the others?”

“What happened to working?” Clarke teases him even as she crouches down to grab the pretty tin that she keeps her toys in from under her bed.

“I’m gonna work, I’m just…” Bellamy trails off as Clarke sets the tin on her bed and lifts the lid off. She’s got a couple different vibrators, a few plugs and an assortment of other little sex accessories she keeps on hand but finds she often forgets to use. “Damn, Clarke. You’ve got a collection.” Bellamy sits on her bed and reaches tentatively into the box to touch the smooth silicone of her vibrators. The look on his face is a mixture of intrigue and awe, like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. Clarke wants to laugh at him but instead she just watches him.

“Which one is your favorite?” He asks her after a moment.

Clarke shrugs. “They’re all pretty good. This one.” Her fingers brush Bellamy’s when she reaches into touch her long, curved internal vibrator. “This one feels great, like really hits my g-spot, but I can’t come from it alone.”

Bellamy looks up at her, a question in his eyes.

“You want to use them on me, don’t you?” Clarke asks with a smirk and the flare of heat in Bellamy’s eyes tells her she’s right.

“You’re damn right I do,” Bellamy says hotly. “You show me your collection of sex toys and think I don’t want use them on you? What person in their right mind wouldn’t?” His dark eyes are narrowed and the smirk on his face is dirty and full of promises. “Can I? Princess, can I get you off with your toys?”

That flare of want, muted before, comes roaring back in Clarke’s stomach and settles hot and pulsing in her cunt. “Ok, Bellamy. Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Bellamy rests his hand on her hip and pulls her a bit closer so she’s standing right in front of him, between his spread thighs. He pushes up her sweater so he can nibble at her stomach, glancing up at her through his mop of curls. “Yeah I can fuck you with your toys?” He looks actually delighted when she nods and stands suddenly, catching her stumble backward with his arms wrapped around the small of her back, turning them so that Clarke is trapped between the bed and Bellamy’s bulk. When he kisses her, he’s still got the delighted smile on his face and Clarke can’t help but smile back against it.

“This is so fucking great,” Bellamy says against her mouth. “Come on, get on the bed. I want to get my hands on you.” He pushes at her insistently even as he keeps kissing her and Clarke is laughing by the time she can get away from his mouth to sit down on the bed and Bellamy follows her right down, one hand braced on the bed behind her as he leans into her and licks into her mouth.

“Here,” Bellamy mutters as he pushes her toy box across the bed and taps her knee. “Legs up.”

“So fucking demanding,” Clarke tells him and he grins when he rolls his eyes at her in response.

“Sure, uh-huh, get your legs on the fucking bed, Clarke,” he urges her and dips his head so he can mouth at her shoulder, hiding his smile by fitting his teeth into her skin. She lets Bellamy manhandle her onto the bed, tugging her hips down so that he can press her back into the pillows. Bellamy gets a leg over hers and drops his weight carefully onto her, sitting low on her hips, keeping her anchored on the bed. His curls, in need of a trim, fall into his face as he looks down at her and Clarke feels the smile on her face when she meets his dark eyes, reaches up to push his hair back off his forehead and Bellamy turns to nip at her arm, smiling in return.

He reaches over to pick up her internal vibrator and clicks it on, frowning a bit as he works out how to change the intensity and vibration patterns. Clarke shifts under him, his weight on her comfortable but the sight of him holding her vibrator with the intent to use it on her makes her ache.

“Bellamy,” she complains and he refocuses on her, dropping the vibrator on the bed beside him and leaning forward over her so all she can see are the freckles against his olive skin and his dark eyes.

“You fuck yourself with that, Princess?” Bellamy asks her hotly, “Does it feel good?”

“Mm-hmm.” Clarke nods and sticks out her tongue. “Fills me up, Bellamy,” she adds because as much as Bellamy likes to talk, she’s discovering he likes when Clarke talks back to him even more. She’s not disappointed as Bellamy’s eyes snap and he closes the distance between them to kiss her, his tongue hot and demanding in her mouth.

“Damn Clarke, you’re a goddamn menace.” He sits back and pulls his own shirt off, smirks when Clarke reaches up to run her hands down his chest and scratch at his abs. He interrupts her to pull her shirt and sweater off as well, tossing them so hard away from the bed that they hit the wall with a soft thump. Then he’s slotting his mouth back over hers, kissing her again. He slips his hands under her ribcage to unclasp her bra. As he pulls away, he plants a hand on her shoulder to keep her from following him up.

“Alright, Princess,” he husks. “Let’s what we can do to you, huh?”

Clarke shivers under his gaze but stretches her arms overhead so she’s arching a bit, likes how Bellamy’s eyes drop to her tits. He meets her gaze again with a knowing look even as he leans across the bed to pick up her bullet again. “Trying to distract me?”

“Maybe,” Clarke admits and wiggles under him, trying for some friction. Bellamy shifts so he’s sitting on her more heavily, keeping her still.

“God, Clarke,” Bellamy growls “Behave.” He swats lightly at her side, giving her a small smack that makes Clarke giggle. Bellamy rolls his eyes, grinning back all the same. He turns on her bullet and the deliberate, delicate way Bellamy holds it makes her clit throb.

“You can’t get my pants off if you’re sitting on me,” Clarke tells him, hoping her voice won’t betray how hot the sight of him gets her.

“Who says I want your pants off right now?” Bellamy asks blandly and presses the little vibrator to Clarke’s nipple. Clarke jerks in surprise at the sudden sensation and Bellamy tweaks her other nipple at the same time, fingers large and warm and strong. “Huh, baby? Who says I want your pants off?” He holds her gaze, challenging and smug as he circles the little vibe around her nipple. The way it zings through her makes it feel like her tit is hot wired to her clit. Clarke fights to keep her eyes on his, matching his gaze.

Bellamy toggles up the vibration and Clarke whimpers at that, shifts under him again, trying to get more than the maddening tease at her nipples. “Yeah, there we go,” Bellamy says with a rasp. “How’s that feel on your tits, babe? Does it feel good, Clarke?” He switches the bullet to the other nipple and ghosts his fingertips over her peaked, tight tit, flushed red from the vibration. “Can’t get over how hot your tits are,” Bellamy says quietly, gaze hungry. He cups her right breast and the warm of his skin after the insistent vibration feels like too much and not enough all at once.

“Bellamy,” Clarke whines. “More, I want more. Please.”

“Mm, I know, Princess, I know.” Bellamy hushes her and leans forward to kiss her, swallowing her whine. “Don’t worry, I’m going to give you more.”

He kisses her neck and collarbone as he continues to switch the vibe between her tits and Clarke arches, desperately. She wants more- wants his hands on her body, wants his mouth, his fingers, his cock. Wants him to use her toys on her to make her come. Wants him to hurry up. She turns her head, eyes closed, mouthing at him blind, trying to kiss him, trying to egg him on with her tongue and teeth and lips. 

“Yeah, ok,” Bellamy agrees with a chuckle. He grabs one of her hands and brings it down to her chest, pressing the bullet into her hand. “Clarke,” he says, quiet and close and when she blinks her eyes open, he smiles sharply at her. “You keep your tits company for me, ok? I gotta take off your pants now, but I wanna know your pretty tits keep getting the love they deserve. Can you do that for me?”

Clarke just nods, finding that her voice is stuck in her throat and Bellamy leans forward to press a scorching kiss to her mouth, all teeth and tongue and dark smirk on his mouth. Clarke bites his upper lip as he starts to pull away, tugs on it and smirks when he makes a surprised noise in his throat. He gets a hand in her hair, fast, and tugs sharp in retaliation and Clarke moans, shivers with it.

“Let me see,” Bellamy growls, “Let me make sure you’re treating your tits right, Princess.”

Clarke presses the vibrator to her nipple with shaking fingers and jerks again at the renewed intensity of it, sweeter for the reprieve Bellamy had given her. He murmurs a quiet _oh yeah_ and drops his head to suck her other tit into his mouth, laving his tongue hot and hard over the peaked tip. Clarke sneaks her other hand between their bodies to scratch sharp over his ribs.

Bellamy groans at the sting and nips in return at her. He cocks his head to watch as she teases the vibrator on her nipple and the noise he makes against her tit makes Clarke moan too.

“It’s so fucking hot when you play with yourself,” he tells her and kneels up, leaving her suddenly cold without his looming hot presence. “Don’t forget the other one, huh? Give it a squeeze.” He groans when Clarke does as he asks, “Unbelievable.”

He works her jeans open and shifts so that he can get a hand under her lower back. He hoists her up just enough that her hips are free of the mattress. Jeans and panties both end up at the foot of the bed and Bellamy readjusts over her, pushing her thighs wide and straddling one, slotting his knee between her legs so that he can keep them spread.

“You’re flushin’, babe.” Bellamy smoothes his hands down from her ribs, over her stomach to rub her thighs, his skin dragging deliciously against hers. “You getting hot for me and your toys?”

“Mm-hmm,” Clarke sighs, distracted. Her whole body feels like it’s vibrating just from the bullet and her fingers on her nipples. She rocks her hips, wishing Bellamy’s leg was closer.

“Mm, yeah, that’s right. Tell me what you do first.” Bellamy gives her some relief and cups her cunt, not rubbing or bracing enough to give her friction but she calms under his touch enough to order her thoughts.

“The, um, um…” Bellamy reaches across the bed again and dump her box of toys out across the duvet.

“It’s ok, show me, Princess. Show me.”

Clarke reaches over and picks up her lilac vibrator, oval and flat and soft silicone. She offers it to Bellamy. “I.. I, uh, I use that a bit. Feels good on my clit.”

Bellamy turns it over in his palm and finds the power button. It hums to life and Bellamy clicks the mode button a few times.

“High or low?” He asks gruffly. His fingers still cupping her press down slightly and Clarke sighs, arches. ‘Tell me, Princess. How do you like it on your clit?”

“Low, to start, Please, Bellamy, please,” Clarke whispers and Bellamy adjusts the setting and then presses the soft vibrator against her cunt. Clarke gasps and rocks up into the vibration, the way it rumbles against her clit and she can feel how wet she’s gotten from the easy way she can grind into the vibrator as Bellamy holds it still and anchored for her.

“Oh yeah, babe, yeah. Look at that. Look at you getting yourself off. You’re so hot, Clarke. Come here, c’mere, give me a kiss.”

He leans forward and hooks a hand around the back of Clarke’s neck to pull her up to meet his mouth. She sighs into him even as she rocks down harder into the toy he holds steady for her.

“Bellamy,” she grits out, hips working frantically to get the pressure she wants, “more. Can you- can you…” Bellamy catches on and twists his wrist back and forth like he does when he fingers her, rubbing her vibrator against her cunt. When she moans in relief his grin could cut glass.

“Yeah, you got it, Princess. I’m going to make you feel it.” He draws back enough to be able to adjust the intensity and knocks it up a few notches. He watches her face, the way she knows her eyebrows crease against the extra vibration against her clit. Then he clicks it up two more speeds, higher than Clarke goes when she uses it herself.

Clarke shrieks behind her teeth, eyes snapping closed and body thrashing against the sudden high buzz of her vibrator, strong enough to be almost painful on her clit and cunt but so fucking good, especially when Bellamy grabs her hip and holds her in place. She drops the bullet, hands flying to clutch the bed spread to brace herself against it, eyes squeezed shut, body taut and trembling.

“Oooh,” Bellamy chuckles darkly and grinds down harder with her vibrator, rotates his wrist fast and punishing and Clarke gasps without words, without the ability to vocalize how close she suddenly is to coming. “Oh there it is. Can you come from this, Clarke? Is this how you get off?” He grabs her bullet, dropped on the bedside beside her and presses it back against her left nipple and Clarke flails on the bed, beyond words, beyond anything than the two vibrations rocking through her body. She feel her eyes roll back in her head and her cunt begin to clench down on nothing- And then everything is gone.

She gasps at the absence, body arching and chasing the sensation, lost and so close to coming that she can taste it. “Oh, Bellamy,” she gasps, “Bellamy, please. I’m so close.” She arches up again, unable to do anything more and Bellamy’s large hands catch and encompass her ribcage, bear her gently but firmly back into the mattress. “Oh please,” Clarke whimpers.

“Oh pretty baby,” Bellamy soothes her, “Oh Clarke, I know. You were almost there, sweetheart, weren’t you? I know, I know. Come here.” He drops down next to her and braces himself on his side so he can loom over her and kiss her. He fits his hand into her hair and rubs soothingly at her scalp. He kisses her slow and deep and all consuming and Clarke whines into his mouth, He strokes his free hand down between her tits and teases the curve of them with his thumb.

Her body is thrumming, high strung and she kisses him back fiercely, trying to rile him up, but Bellamy keeps the pace of his mouth slow against her frantic one. “Breathe, Clarke,” he says against her lips. “Breathe. I promise I’m going to make you come, baby, and it’s going to feel so good. I’m going to make you feel so good with your toys, but I wanna make it last. Let me do that for you, Princess, huh? Let me make it sweet for you.”

It takes a moment but Clarke is able to finally whisper: “ok” into his mouth, nodding when she feels his smile. “Ok.”

His hand strokes lower and he follows the curve of her stomach to her pubic bone and then slips between her legs. He strokes his thumb once, light and teasing, over her clit and Clarke jerks. He keeps kissing her slow and strokes his fingers lower to tease her labia, dips his fingers lightly inside her

“Oh babe,” he whispers, “You’re soakin’. Do you need me to finger you before I fuck you with your vibrator?”

Clarke tries to collect her thoughts enough to determine what she wants as Bellamy goes back to kissing her. It’s so easy now that her body has calmed slightly, to get lost in the tease of his tongue and the pressure of his lips, his fingers stroking lightly over her cunt. Yes she does want his fingers, wants the way they feel thick inside her, the way he twists and grinds them up into her. But she knows Bellamy and he’s not going to let her come until he’s fucking her with her vibrator and she doesn’t think she can survive more of his teasing today.

“Fuck me,” Clarke says, turning away from him just enough to catch her breath. His lips graze her cheek bone and his nose bumps against her forehead. “Give it to me, come on, Bellamy.”

“Oh yeah, Princess. I’m going to give it to you.” He tugs on her hair just enough to get her turn her head back toward him for another kiss and then he reaches across her for the disarranged array of toys her on bedspread. He picks up her long internal vibrator and offers it to her questioningly. When she nods he smiles and clicks it on and strokes the length of it slow over her cunt. He presses it hard into her clit and Clarke gasps, turns her head to mouth at Bellamy’s shoulder and jaw.

“Alright,” he rumbles and Clarke can feel it in his chest. “I’m going to fuck you with your toy now, Clarke. Ready?”

Before she can vocalize _Fuck yes I’m fucking ready,_ Bellamy’s already pressing it slow and certain into her and Clarke loses that particular train of thought.

The soft buzz of her vibrator inside her feels like it’s radiating through her body and Clarke gives a small sigh at the simple relief of it. Bellamy tugs her hair so her head is pulled back, the long line of her neck exposed and mouths at her chin. Clarke whimpers as he flexes his wrist, grinding her vibrator deeper into her.

“Tell me where, huh Clarke?” Bellamy breathes into her ear, setting his teeth lighting into the shell. “Where does it feel good?”

He’s normally so adept at finding which spots inside her light her up with his fingers and his cock, but she realizes through her haze that he’s at an disadvantage, flying blind without his sense of touch or the right angle. She shifts her hips helpfully and angles her body as Bellamy presses the toy inside her, questing carefully, his eyes locked on her face.

It’s good, it’s all good until suddenly it’s better, it’s fucking fantastic: she feels stretched and full and like she’s fucking electrified by the press and grind of her vibrator right _there._ It’s the kind of sudden intense pleasure that leaves her gasping and clawing at Bellamy’s chest, breath punched out of her, unable to articulate just how right it is, but he knows, he knows.

“Oh _yeah_ , Princess,” he snarls at her, “Right there? Is that where you like it? Fuck, look at you.” His fingers are still tight in her hair and he drops his head to mouth at the column of her throat, teeth sharp and tongue soothing. He keeps the angle of his wrist right and rocks her vibrator into her like it’s his cock, slow and mean and hard. Each humming thrust knocks a helpless noise from Clarke and Bellamy moans in sympathy along with her.

“Oh yeah, babe, yeah, you sound so good. Look at you: you’re all locked up, huh? I can feel how tight you are around your toy, you can hardly stand how good it is. Fuck, but that’s hot.” He stretches a finger out, still rocking her vibrator into her, and strokes it lightly on her labia. “And so wet. You’re so wet, Clarke, get’s me so hot, you know that? Makes me crazy.”

He nips at her neck, teeth worrying her skin slightly and Clarke whines. The vibrator kicks up inside her and Bellamy presses it up just right, sweet and firm and punishing in the way he grinds it deep within her. Clarke stutters over his name.

“Want me to rub you off? I will if you look at me, Princess. Open your eyes, yeah that’s right.” He’s looming right over her now, eyes intense and hot and boring into hers. His thumb finds her clit and he taps it then rubs down against her sweetly. “Oh baby, look at that. You look so good when you’re gonna come, huh? Come on, let me see you come.”

He presses down hard and vibrating with his thumb and gives her vibrator one last hard thrust into her and even though her eyes are open, Clarke can’t see anything. Bellamy bites hard at her lower lip the last second before she loses herself in the rush of her orgasm. She cries out, body shaking and shuddering against Bellamy’s. She vaguely hears Bellamy’s “Oh yeah, sweet thing, oh yeah. There you go, that’s it. Fuck, you’re unreal.”

He eases the vibrator from inside her slowly and then abandons it, still buzzing on the bed next to them to plunge his hand into his jeans and fist his dick, stroking himself hard and fast. Clarke feels the movement against her hip, his shuddered breath against her ear. She has just enough energy when she comes back to herself to shake free of the hand still resting in her hair and shimmy down the bed. She tugs at Bellamy’s jeans but when he moves his hand to give her room to work, she traps it and returns it to his cock.

“Keep going, Bellamy,” she breaths. “Keep going.”

Bellamy groans and flops onto his back, hand speeding up, the golden tone of his skin richer as he flushes under her. Clarke sticks her tongue out and licks sloppy over his fingers and the head of his dick. Bellamy swears a little brokenly above her. Clarke angles herself so she can suck and lick at the tip of his cock as it emerges from his fist and he works himself, spits a bit on him to ease the friction, make it wetter and slicker for his strokes.

Precum blurts from his slit and Clarke licks it up, hums at the bitter taste of it and hears Bellamy’s breath catch. She passes her tongue over him again, flat and languid and mimics the trick he uses on her, shakes her head so her tongue vibrates over the sensitive underside of his dick.

“Clarke,” Bellamy says, voice raspy and weak. “Oh.”

“Bellamy, hey,” Clarke says as she turns to bit sharply at his inner thigh. “You like my tongue?”

“Christ,” Bellamy grits out and his fist speeds up on his dick. “Yeah, yeah I like your tongue. Your mouth, fuck, it’s amazing, Clarke.”

She lets him feel her grin against his skin before she licks hard up his shaft, tracing the vein and Bellamy swears again. She laps at his balls, drawn tight against his body, sucks gently at one and there’s a thunk as Bellamy hits her headboard with his other hand, looking for something to grip on to.

When Clarke looks up at him, his head is tossed back, eyes closed and brow creased. She braces herself so she can circle her tongue around the flushed red tip of his cock even as she gropes across the bed and finds the discarded lilac vibrator. She turns it on and presses against the base of Bellamy’s dick as she closes her mouth over him.

“Oh fuck, Clarke!” Bellamy thrashes on the bed, his hips bucking up helplessly, “Holy shit, what- fuck.”

Clarke teases the vibrator up just enough that it bumps into Bellamy’s frantically jerking first and then down, barely touching his balls, to press behind them into his perineum.

Bellamy makes a noise she’s never heard out of him before and his eyes fly open. “Clarke, babe, fuck I’m gonna-“ Clarke sucks at him hard and moans when she feels the first stripe of cum hit her tongue. It’s earthy and a little tangy and she swallows it as his dick twitches in her mouth. His hand is still grasped around his shaft, still working with desperate little pulls and twitches to see himself through. Clarke lets the vibrator fall on the bed and Bellamy grunts, half relief, half regret. She keeps sucking at him gently until his hand falls away and then she lets him slip out of her mouth with a soft pop, glances up at him.

Head still tossed back, Bellamy looks absolutely wrecked. Clarke brushes her nose up his chest until she can slot herself in at his side. His arm flops down from overhead in an attempt to touch her, but he’s a bit boneless and it lands heavily next to her. His thumb just brushes her shoulder. Clarke smirks at him when he opens his eyes and he looks at her, a bit glassy.

“Ok,” he says hoarsely, “Ok. I know why you have so many vibrators now.”

Clarke laughs and tilts her head and Bellamy groans as he lifts to head to kiss her.

“So you liked that?” Clarke teases him and he manages to raise an eyebrow, capturing a fucked out version of his normal skeptical expression.

“Take a wild guess, Princess. That was excellent. That was…” he trails off with a short laugh. “Yeah. Excellent.”

**

A Traditional Blake Thanksgiving is, unsurprisingly, exactly how Octavia made it out to appear on her invite. Clarke knows that she and Bellamy have taken over Lincoln’s apartment for the last few days to bake exactly “one fuckton of pies,” as Lincoln dryly puts it to her in his shop, leaning against the counter. He’s got charcoal on his fingers and some smudged above his left eyebrow and his smile is easy. He had called Clarke on Wednesday night late, asking she wanted to work a few extra hours with him the next morning and in the background, the din of the Blake siblings going off on one another had been laughably evident. 

“Flour and pie fillings everywhere,” Lincoln says. “And Bellamy standing in the middle of it with a burnt pumpkin pie.” Clarke shakes her head.

“I mean, you had to know that you were getting into this when you gave Octavia full access to your place this week.”

“Yeah but I didn’t plan on Bellamy being the antithesis to her prodigal cooking abilities.”

“Oh yeah, he can’t cook for shit,” Clarke laughs. “But Octavia said he always managed at least one or two pies when they were growing up. Apparently baking is his ‘forte’.” She gives it air quotes and Lincoln grins at her.

“Yeah, not from where I was standing. But I also wouldn’t put it past Bellamy to burn the pie on purpose to get back from Octavia making him show up at 4:30 am this morning.”

“4:30?” Clarke asks, shocked despite having spent the last six years being Octavia’s friend and more often than not, party planning partner. “How many pies is she making?”

“I told you, exactly one fuckton. I won’t have fridge space for a month.”

“And then it will be a Christmas party,” Clarke teases him, “And you’ll have gingerbread and buche de noel until the summer.” Lincoln laughs, looking actually delighted at the idea. “Of course,” Clarke continues slyly, “you could always defer hosting.”

“Yeah…” Lincoln rubs the back of his neck and spreads more charcoal. Clarke makes a mental note to make him get cleaned up in their tiny bathroom before they head back to his place for the afternoon. “I don’t know, I like having her there. It makes it feel… I don’t know, she just fits there. It’s like, I wake up with her in the morning and sometimes I’m so happy that I actually get sad thinking about the mornings that she doesn’t sleep over.”

“Oh my god, Lincoln,” Clarke says. “You are in so much trouble.”

“I really am,” Lincoln says with such a bright smile that Clarke has to smile back. “Keep a secret?” He asks, leaning forward conspiratorially.

“Only for you,” Clarke says and leans forward as well. 

“I’m thinking about asking Octavia to move in with me.” He says, looking at bit nervous at the idea.

“Lincoln!” Clarke says in delight, grabbing his charcoal smudged hand. “That’s so exciting! That’s just… that’s really, really great.” 

“You think?” Lincoln asks, laughing at her glee. “You don’t think I’m… I don’t know, rushing her into it?”

“You guys have been together for a year, and I honestly don’t think Octavia’s wanted anything else since she showed up at my place on her stride of pride home the morning after you guys met. Rushing Bellamy? Maybe. But definitely not Octavia.”

Lincoln winces. “Yeah, Bellamy might not be too happy about it.”

“Honestly, though, he’ll get over it. You see yourself spending the rest of your life with her, right?” Clarke asks, only because she knows it’s true. Lincoln and Octavia have one of those rare connections where they are simply so sure of one another and their place in each other’s lives without any pretense or anything to prove. She’s seen them fight, she’s seen them at each other’s throats and still never for a moment doubted the fact that they knew they were it for each other.

True to form, Lincoln just smiles at Clarke. “I can’t imagine it any other way,” he says simply.

“See? Octavia feels the same and Bellamy’s going to come around. You’ve just got to give him time.”

“This is why I tell you things,” Lincoln says. “You always see the possibilities.” He leans across the counter and presses a kiss to Clarke’s temple. “Now come on, let’s actually put in our time for being here.”

They work in the back in Lincoln’s workshop. He does charcoal and welding primarily, although Clarke has seen him paint stunning watercolors when the mood strikes him, and his studio is usually a mess. She helps him gather up bits and pieces of debris and scrap metal that always seem to collect on the days she isn’t around and they work on mounting several of his pieces. Lincoln runs a couple different ideas of new statue he’s thinking about by her and Clarke has him talk through his vision from the roots of it. She’s always startled by his ideas, so simple in theory and so beautiful in execution. Lincoln asks to see her sketch pad and flips through it thoughtfully, impressed with some of her more recent sketches.When they check the time, it’s getting on toward two-thirty and they agree to call it a day.

Clarke forces Lincoln to scrub down in the little bathroom in back and hands him his shirt he had so carefully folded and brought this morning. Clarke strips down without any pretense of modesty and pulls on tights and a red dress she had bought with Raven the weekend before while Lincoln adjusts his bowtie in the mirror. 

“Well look at us,” Lincoln says thrilled, taking Clarke’s hands. “We look damn good.”

Lincoln owns a car and he drives them back to his place. He opens the door for Clarke to get out in that formal, old fashioned way he sometimes has about him. Lincoln lives in a beautiful top floor apartment, which is unbelievably unfair since he’s an artist and has made all his own money. Octavia hears them coming up the stairs and throws open the door. 

In true Octavia fashion, any stress that might have gone into nearly single handedly putting together a party for all her friends has magically disappeared. She’s in a gorgeous short blue dress, hair perfectly styled, make up impeccable and she still manages to look as comfortable as she would in jeans and a t-shirt. “You’re back!” She says brightly and tugs Lincoln in for a kiss. “And you!” She says when she releases him and takes Clarke’s hand. She makes her twirl and laughs. “I love this dress! You look fabulous, of course.” She pulls Clarke inside Lincoln’s apartment like it’s already her own and accepts Clarke’s proffered mashed potatoes with the appropriate amount of excitement.

Bellamy’s lingering in the entryway, playing dutiful host to his sister’s hostess, a glass of whiskey on the rocks in his hand.

“I see you already started drinking,” Clarke observes as she shrugs off her jacket. 

“I’ve been up since four am, I deserve a head start,” Bellamy grumbles, then catches Clarke’s arm and pulls her in for a hug. “Happy Thanksgiving,” he says into her shoulder, arm tight around her back. “I’m glad you’re joining us.”

Clarke hugs him back, nose in his neck, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. “I’m glad you guys wanted us all to join,” she says softly. 

Bellamy lets her pull back, thumb brushing gently on her shoulder. He looks good. He’s wearing a blue button down shirt and his hair is tousled, but stylishly so. He smiles at her, eyes soft the way they sometimes go and then releases her completely to give a surprised Lincoln a clap on the back. 

“Thanks for lending us the apartment, man,” he says. “And for not freaking out when I set your fire alarms off.”

Lincoln chuckles. “Did the pie make it?”

“I had backup pumpkin,” Octavia says happily and loops her arm through Lincoln’s. “You guys are the first to arrive, actually. Which is the way I wanted it.” She reaches out and grabs Clarke and pulls her in so that she can link her arm through Clarke’s as well. “My favorite people all in one spot.”

“Except for Indra,” Lincoln says playfully and Octavia blushes. 

“I would have invited her but I don’t think she’s huge on the whole bonding with employees thing.”

“The Holt to your Sanchez,” Lincoln says and Octavia looks torn between being pleased at Lincoln’s ability to finally reference Brooklyn 99 and embarrassed. She settles by quickly changing the topic. 

“So we have pie, about ten types of pie actually, and Bellamy acted his true age and picked up some whisky that is nearly as old as he is, so we can have a few drinks as well before Monty gets here with more alcohol.” Octavia tugs Lincoln toward the kitchen to show him and Bellamy and Clarke follow.

“She didn’t actually make Monty get all the alcohol, right?” Clarke asks under her breath and Bellamy shakes his head.

“She made me get it. Wouldn’t be a true Blake Thanksgiving if we didn’t have really shitty rum that I bought for us.”

“You are such a good role model.”

“I try, Princess. I try.” He leans against the kitchen doorframe and lets Octavia show off all the pies they’ve made. She and Bellamy have even managed to clean up after themselves and arranged the pies in some sort of bizarre Blake organizational system that places apple next to pecan (“single ingredient”), pumpkin next to custard (“consistency”) and cookie-dough next to strawberry-rhubarb (“mix of ingredients, obviously” Bellamy chimes in with a scoff).

There are multiple bottles of wine, some truly shitty looking rum and vodka and several bottles of juice arranged nicely on a sideboard as well. Octavia has placed Clarke’s potatoes in the dining room on a long side table. 

Their friends arrive in short order just after Bellamy has poured them all some startlingly good whisky, all bringing some small dish or another. Lincoln pulls up the queued list of Friends thanksgiving episodes as Octavia hands out drinks and sets up Monty, who’s brought his entire bartending kit for the occasion. There’s not a lot of formality, they don’t all fit around one table, so they end up leaning in the kitchen, lounging on Lincoln’s couch and of course, stretched out on the floor together. 

Everyone gets loud pretty quickly and they all eat a surprising amount of pie. Octavia makes them all play Bowl of Nouns, at which both she and Bellamy are surprisingly good, and Clarke and Miller surprisingly bad. Someone throws out an idea for a Secret Snowflake and they all draw names out of the previously used bowl for their assignment.

Sitting between Raven and Bellamy, Clarke closes her slip that reads _Monroe_ in her fist as both of them lean in to see who she’s drawn. “It’s secret for a reason,” Clarke tells them and then tries to peek at both of theirs. 

“Nuh-uh, it goes both ways, Clarke,” Bellamy says, hiding his paper in his shirt and then grabbing the wine bottle to pour them all more wine. 

“But that’s not fair,” Clarke says, tipsily. She leans into Raven and pouts up at her. 

“That’s actually probably one of the definitions of fair,” Raven informs her, running her fingers through her hair. 

“Hey. Tell me who you got,” Clarke giggles and tugs on Raven’s ponytail. Raven rolls her eyes and pushes her at Bellamy. 

“No. Go bug Bellamy, I need to use the bathroom.” Clarke tips into Bellamy’s shoulder as Raven gets up and he shifts his arm up out of the way so Clarke can lean into him more comfortably.

“Don’t even ask,” Bellamy tells her. 

“Fine, then I don’t even want to know,” Clarke informs him and reaches for her phone, remembering too late she’s left her phone in her jacket “We should be documenting this. I’ve been very lax in my Party Photographer status. Give me your phone?”

Bellamy sighs in a decidedly put-upon manner but digs his phone out of his pocket and hands it to her. She snaps a few photos of their friends around the room and then switches to the selfie camera and tilts her head toward Bellamy. “Smile.” Bellamy tilts his head in as well so that their heads are touching and grins with her at the screen. 

Raven bounces back at that moment and photobombs their next photo, resting her chin on top of both of their heads and making a face. “Group photo?” Raven asks the room in general, and they end up all squished either onto the couch, on the floor in front of it or leaning behind. Raven snags Bellamy’s phone and puts a timer on it so they can all be in it. 

At the last second, Murphy digs his thumb into Monroe’s ribs and makes her shriek. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am on [tumblr](verbam.tumblr.com) come join me and cry!


	5. December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to the lovely cetaprincipessa on tumblr for edits and beta reading.
> 
> And thank you to all of you reading!! You guys have left such awesome comments and feedback, and as always, those reviews and kudos light up my day. Thank you for being such awesome, supportive readers. <3

There has always been something Clarke loved about being on top. 

With Finn, she could find the right angle and control the pace much better than when she let him choose the position. With Lexa, she always got a rush of power from grinding down on her, sliding together slickly, making Lexa’s dark eyes flutter in pleasure at the pressure on her clit.

With Bellamy… with Bellamy there’s something thrilling about it in ways she can’t qualify. There’s something in the way his cock gets even deeper and sweeter in her when she straddles him and pushes him to lie back on the bed. There’s something in the way the long expanse of his torso is on display for her to touch freely, the way his curls get mussed on her pillows, the way his hands tremble against her legs, her hips, against her clit when he tries to give as good as he’s getting. Something in the way his voice loses his deep growl faster this way, his words choked off and breathy when he looks up at her, and when she pushes his wrists into the bed and limits her movements to a frantic grind on him, rubbing her clit into his pubic bone and his dick grinding deep insider her, Bellamy goes wild with it. 

“Aw fuck, Clarke. Yeah, get yourself off on my dick. Yeah, fucking use it. Shit, come here, come here, you gotta kiss me, babe. You gotta kiss me, I can’t take it, come here.” His voice is hoarse and he strains up against her hands to reach her and she leans down to meet him, whining in her throat when that changes the angle, makes him grind even deeper. She can feel the sweat on her back, the way her hair sticks, the softness of his lips and his growl that reverberates through her. She lets go of one of his hands.

“Touch me?”

“You don’t even have to ask, baby. You know I will. Lean up a bit, huh?” She does and Bellamy props himself up on his elbow and strokes his fingers over her labia, gathering the slickness there. “Fuck, you’re always so wet. It’s all over your thighs, babe. Unbelievable.” His thumb lands on her clit and he strokes teasingly over her, firm quick passes that makes Clarke whimper and rock harder on top of him.

“You should see this,” Bellamy says, eyes hot as he looks at her. “Your cunt’s so pretty, it’s so pink. And my cock,” he growls, hips jerking to fuck up into her harder, make her bounce on him, “looks so good fucking you.” At the noise she makes, Bellamy’s eyes flash up to her face and his grin is feral and joyful all at once. He bears down harder with his thumb, turning tight little circles against her clit in a way that makes her toes curl with the intensity of it. 

She knows she’s gasping- high, desperate _oh, oh, ohs_ that fall from her mouth and Bellamy lunges up to kiss her, bracing one hand back on the bed so he can still piston his hips up into her even as he rubs her harder. “That’s it, Clarke,” Bellamy breaths, “yeah, that’s it.” He nudges her head back with his nose and kisses down her throat as she grips his shoulders and rocks down to meet his thrusts. Her tits bounce heavily and the added feeling of her nipples rubbing over his chest makes her shudder helplessly. She turns her head into his hair and Bellamy understands, tilting his face back up to kiss her. 

Clarke comes as he licks into her mouth, filthy and wet. She feels the waves of it course through her body, feels how she clenches and pulses on his cock, deep inside her, feels her clit throb against Bellamy’s thumb. Goddamn, but it’s good. Bellamy eases up on her, moving his thumb from her clit to her hip, anchoring her against him as he keeps kissing her through it, mouth muffling her breathy whines. 

“Mm, you feel so good when you come,” he says when he lets her up for air. “Oh look at you, you’re still shaking,” Bellamy teases her, running his hand lightly up her hair and over the goosebumps she’s got from the chilly air and her orgasm. Bellamy curls his hand around her neck and squeezes, digging his thumb into the muscle there. Clarke huffs and drops her head forward even as she rolls her hips a bit. The girth of Bellamy’s cock still feels so good inside her and she sets up a careful roll of her hips, each movement grinding his cockhead sweetly into the spot deep inside her that knocks the breath from her.

“Come on, Bellamy,” Clarke breaths into his neck as she circles her hips. “Let me make you come.” Bellamy’s hips jerk at her words and he grunts into her shoulder. His hand tightens on the back of her neck and he holds her close as he thrusts up into her.

“Yeah, Clarke, you’re going to make me come, baby,” he husks next to her ear, his fingers tangling in her hair. “God, you feel so good on my dick.” He fucks up into her hard, growling into her hair, biting her shoulder and Clarke scratches her nails down his back roughly and then tugs mean on his hair. 

“Yeah, fuck! Fucking give it to me, Bellamy,” she moans into his ear, catching the lobe between her teeth and biting down. 

“Christ, Clarke, when you say that…” His thrusts get wilder, more erratic and he grabs her hips and forces her down further, immobilizing her so he can fuck her as deep as he likes. He snarls something when she moans and tosses her head back and he digs teeth into the muscle of her shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark and she feels his body shudder, fingers digging hard into her hips, legs twitching under her as he comes. 

Clarke grins at him as he flops back down on the bed, traces her fingers through the sweat on his chest, brushes over his nipple and he twitches, breath catching. He strokes his thumbs over her hips and smiles back at her, a bit breathless but easy.

“Ok, yeah, that’s a good position,” he says and catches her wrist to tug her down so she’s braced over him , hair falling in his face. “Has a spectacular view,” Bellamy says with a lewd grin and palms on her tits. “When you bounce on my dick, I swear, Clarke, it’s so fucking hot.”

“Yeah?” She asks with a grin and kisses him. “We could always go another round, if you’re up for it…”

Bellamy groans and swats at her hip. “Give me like ten minutes, and I’ll make good on that offer,” he says and tugs on her hair to make her kiss him again. “In the meantime, come up here and let me love on your pretty cunt a bit.”

**

Lying on her back, legs propped straight up along the wall to stretch her hamstrings and a carton of Ben and Jerry’s on her stomach, Clarke figures that she and Octavia have pretty much nailed the whole post workout routine. Octavia is lying next to her, face still a little flushed from their run in the cold air. She has her own pint which she’s digging into enthusiastically, digging out pieces of brownie and cookie dough more than actually eating the ice cream.

“You’re kind of missing the “ice cream” part of the ice cream,” Clarke teases her and spreads her legs open to a V, letting gravity pull open her hips. 

“I’m lactose intolerant,” Octavia says unconvincingly because it’s a bald face lie and Clarke snorts.

“Right. That’s why you bought yourself a whole pint of ice cream.”

“Don’t judge my ice cream eating habits, Clarke. I don’t judge the way you eat peas.”

“How could that possibly be objectionable?” Clarke laughs and Octavia grins at her.

“You eat them with a fork. You try to spear the individual peas.”

“Yeah, because that way I know I’ve beaten my dinner.”

“That’s weird, Clarke,” Octavia says mildly. “That’s really weird.”

“Raven eats hot dogs backwards,” Clarke offers and Octavia chokes. 

“You can’t eat a hot dog backwards.”

“According to her, you can. She insists on turning it around from whichever way it’s served to her.” 

“Ok, that’s weird.” Octavia shakes her head in bafflement and eats another spoonful of just cookie dough. She laughs a bit to herself while she chews. “Lincoln has this thing about putting at least four garlic cloves in everything he cooks.” She smiles suddenly and turns her head to look at Clarke. Clarke looks back at her. “Hey. Lincoln asked me to move in with him. Said he ran it by you first to make sure he wasn’t moving too quickly.”

“I hope I was right in telling him he would be an idiot not to.”

“Yes, you dork, of course.” Octavia shoves at Clarke’s arm playfully. “Dude, I get to leave my tiny, shitty apartment and live with him. It’s like… Clarke, I’m so fucking happy.” She covers her smile with her hand in a way that reminds Clarke of Bellamy. “Tell me I’m not crazy,” Octavia says, “like, tell me I’m not imagining this whole thing.”

Clarke smiles at her. “You’re not. This is real and Lincoln is crazy about you.

“God!” Octavia laughs and shakes her head. “Remember in school where every guy I met just like flaked out on me, or Adam… he just up and transferred? You know, I thought that was just going to be my thing.”

“I would say you lucked out with Lincoln, but he really couldn’t do any better than you.” 

Octavia pulls her legs down from the wall and rolls over so she can tuck her face into Clarke’s shoulder, the way they used to the cuddle in Clarke’s bed back in school. It warms Clarke, Octavia’s affection and physical proximity; she’s one of the people that has been most consistent in Clarke’s life since her dad passed away. As she strokes a finger down between Octavia’s eyebrows, she remembers again how thankful she is for Octavia knocking down all the walls and barriers Clarke had thrown up around herself when she first got to school. 

“Can I say something without you getting mad at me?” Octavia says into her shoulder.

“You can try,” Clarke laughs.

“As much as you’re a Bangin’ Independent Single Lady Who Don’t Need No Relationship, I don’t want you to be afraid to fall in love again.” Octavia looks up at her with her ridiculously large blue eyes to gage Clarke’s reaction.

“Thanks Octavia,” Clarke says absently.

“I’m serious, Clarke. You’re a killer lady and anyone would be lucky to be with you. And not every relationship is going to be like the ones you’ve had.

Clarke nods slowly. “I know that. Rationally, I know that. But…” she trails off and bites her lip.

“But?” Octavia prompts.

“But sometimes I think about how it’s because of me that Finn cheated on Raven… and how shitty I felt when I was with Lexa at the end. I sometimes don’t know if I even want to fall in love again.”

“I know Finn did a number on you, I know Lexa cheating and then gaslighting you made it even worse. But they’re not going to be the only people who want to be with you.” Octavia props herself up on her arm and looks at Clarke fiercely. “There are amazing people out there that make the risk of falling in love worth it in the best of ways. You know that right?”

“Yeah… it’s just when I’ve thought about dating again abstractly, all I can feel is how bad I felt when those relationships ended. I just felt both times like it was somehow my fault.”

“You had nothing to do with it, Clarke. Some people are just dicks, doesn’t matter who they’re with, they just suck. Finn was always going to cheat on Raven, Lexa was always going to put her needs first, you just happened to be in the way.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Clarke says, shrugging a bit.

“Hey, not ‘maybe’. Absolutely. I know you have this complex about how you ruin things, but the reality is that you don’t.”

“How do you know?” Clarke asks.

“Because look at how many friends you have! Friendships aren’t any less intimate than a relationship. Look at me! I’ve been with you for six years and seen you high off your face, depressed as fuck, and wanted to kill you exactly four times I’ve been that pissed at you and I’m still here. I love you more because of all that. If you ruined things, our friendship wouldn’t have lasted this long.” 

Octavia curls her arm across Clark’s shoulders and squeezes her. “You’re stuck with me, Clarke. And soon I’m going to have to fight for your time because some asshole of a great person is going to stumble into you and try to steal you away.”

“Nah,” Clarke says turning her head so that her and Octavia’s foreheads rest against each other. “You always come first. When we’re old and grey, we’ll live together and have a million succulents.”

“And a cat.” Octavia reminds her.

“Right. How could I forget our cat?”

“So disrespectful,” Octavia lisps like a contestant from a season of The Bachelor they watched their senior year together and Clarke giggles. “Alright, fair. But seriously. You’re great, Clarke. You’re exes don’t set a precedent for your future S-Os.”

“Ok,” Clarke says.

“Also I get to be the first person to meet your new boo when that happens. They need to pass the Blake seal of approval before they get to officially date you.”

“You will be the first person to know, I promise.”

“Good. Just… just keep yourself open to the idea. I’m not saying you have to jump into something, but if an opportunity presents itself, don’t write it off because Lexa and Finn are dicks, ok?”

“Yes, Octavia, I’ll make sure to keep that in mind with the endless line of suitors stretched around the corner, thanks,” Clarke snarks at her and Octavia huffs in her face and then kisses the tip of her nose. 

“Good. Well let me know if I can set you up with anyone. I’ve been feeling match-makey lately.”

“Who could you possibly set me up with that I don’t already know?”

“I have friends who you don’t know,” Octavia says haughtily as she disentangles herself from Clarke and sits up. “Very professional work friends. And some Congress members.”

“No thank you,” Clarke says, sitting up herself. “No politicians for me. Lexa got that out of my system.”

“See?” Octavia says, looking like she’s going to jump right back in but Clarke rolls her eyes. “I heard it, I heard it. Go shower so we won’t be a total mess when Raven gets here..” 

Raven shows up in her tan leather jacket, hair pulled back in her usual high ponytail and looks “amazing as always” as Clarke informs her. They’ve decided to splurge this year and are going to see A Christmas Carol at Ford’s Theatre to get them in the holiday mood since they’ve all been working too much. The production is fine, a little too much glitter throwing for Clarke’s taste but it’s always nice to sit in the dark with her friends and watch a live performance. After it’s over, they make the 20 minute walk back towards Foggy Bottom to admire the holiday lights that have started going up. Clarke links her arms through both Raven’s and Octavia’s and doesn’t care that they take up the whole sidewalk.

They have a late dinner at Founding Fathers, their favorite spot to go together. They split their appetizers and desserts but Raven and Clarke are both fiercely protective of their entrees. It’s close to eleven thirty when they finally finish dinner and when they check their phones Monroe has sent them all a blurry picture from TonDC, where she and a few others have unsurprisingly ended up. The little text following just reads: “!!!”

“What am I looking at?” Raven asks, scrunching her nose and tilting the phone trying to get a better angle.

“I feel like it’s… isn’t that Miller? Maybe?” Octavia tries, “Like, that looks like his beanie and I recognize that shirt.”

“So it’s of Miller… wait!” Clarke grabs at Raven as she thinks she makes sense of the picture. “Miller’s making out with someone. _Miller’s making out with Monty_.”

Octavia nearly drops her phone in her excitement. “Is it? Is it?” She turns her head trying to see better and then nearly shrieks. “It is! That’s totally Monty.” She starts typing furiously back to Monroe. “I’m getting all the deets you guys, hold on.”

“Ok, Gossip Girl,” Raven laughs and slings an arm around Octavia’s shoulder to steer her as they start walking again, Octavia still texting away. “It’s about time. How long has Miller mooning over Monty?”

“Since our senior year, at least.” Octavia says. “Ok, Monroe says she’s pretty drunk but she thinks that Monty made Miller dance with him and Miller made the first move after that.”

“I feel like we should pretend we don’t know,” Clarke muses as they lazily walk in the direction of her apartment. “It might be too much if they’re trying to figure things out and we’re all watching them.”

“Hey, they’ve taken this long to get together and have been pretty obvious about being into each other for a while. I say they deserve a little teasing.”

“Merciless teasing.” Octavia pockets her phone at last and catches Clarke’s hand to hold.

Raven and Octavia linger at Clarke’s apartment for a while. They watch Broad City and share between the three of them the rest of the Ben and Jerry’s pints. When they finally drag themselves off the couch it’s close to one in the morning. Raven and Octavia split an uber back to their respective apartments. As Clarke crawls into bed, she lets herself wonder, just for a minute, what Bellamy’s mouth would taste like if she kissed him on the dance floor of TonDC.

**

“Are you done yet?”

“No.” 

Bellamy sighs dramatically and looks back down at his laptop. Clarke snorts. “It’s not like I’m keeping you from actually working.”

“Yeah but I want to see,” Bellamy whines like an actual five year old and Clarke struggles to keep a straight face. 

“Remind me to never take you on a roadtrip,” Clarke tells him dryly, “I couldn’t listen to you bitch ‘are we there yet?’ the whole time.”

“I would definitely be driving,” Bellamy protests. “And you sketching me isn’t the same as taking a roadtrip. A drawing is about the final product. A road trip is about the journey.”

Clarke looks up at him in disbelief. “Wow, did you come up with that all on your own, Kerouac?” She mocks him and he actually throws his pen at her.

“Shut up,” he huffs but she sees the twitch of his mouth and the grin in his eyes when he next looks up at her. “Seriously Clarke, it’s been like half an hour. You don’t usually take this long.”

It’s true. Now that Clarke has been sketching more often, she’s pretty much nailed the Bellamy Blake sketch. Strong jaw, broad shoulders, thick curls: they come to her hand naturally now. But this one is different. She’s trying to capture the way the weak December sunlight highlights the thin scar above his lip, the way his freckles look in sun and in shadow, the way his dimples show even when he’s fighting back a smile. 

She looks down at the paper and thinks she’s done a fair job at it. It’s his eyes, she decides, that are the hardest part. His eyes always hold the key to his expression, and are thus the most complex aspect. There are times when she looks at him and can’t figure out what he’s thinking, caught somewhere between amused and fond and annoyed. He’s dynamic like that, which is why she enjoys the challenge of drawing him so much.

“Alright, alright. I’m done.” She passes the pad across the table to Bellamy’s expectant hand and leans back in her chair as Bellamy studies it. He’s still as he does so, mouth quirked up at the corner in a pleased little smile. Bellamy doesn’t say anything for a moment but then he extends his hand again. “What?”

“Give me your pencil.”

“No. Why?” Clarke asks in spite of herself.

“Because I want a turn,” Bellamy says with his childlike grin spreading across his face. “You’re always drawing me, I think it’s only fair I get a chance to draw you.”

“That’s a professional sketch pad with really good paper,” Clarke complains even as she hands her pencil to Bellamy, followed by her eraser. “It’s not meant for amatuer hour.”

“Rude,” Bellamy tells her as he crosses his ankle over his knee and props the pad up on his thigh. “Octavia used to love my drawings.”

“Octavia was probably six years old at the time.”

“Doesn’t mean she didn’t have good taste,” Bellamy says defensively. “Now be quiet, I’m an artiste at work.”

Clarke rolls her eyes but picks up _Poems of Catullus_ off the table and flips it open. Bellamy’s dogeared many of the pages and most of the pages she turns to have at least a few lines underlined. Notes are scrawled in the margins, little exclamation points, a few names of medieval French poets and in the bottom corner of one page, a little doodle of a dog and a rabbit. 

When she looks back up at Bellamy, the tip of his tongue is caught between his teeth in concentration. He glances up at her and waggles his eyebrows. “Are you done yet?” Clarke deadpans.

Bellamy huffs. “Almost, Princess.” She leans forward and props her chin in her hand on the table just to mess him up and he scowls at her without any heat. “You’re a terrible model.”

“I always preferred sketching to modeling. We can’t all have your good looks, Blake.”

“What’s that, Clarke? I didn’t quite catch that, I thought I just heard you say I was good looking.” Bellamy teases, looking up.

“I wouldn’t be sleeping with you, asshole, if I didn’t.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy says, still grinning as he traces the pencil on the page. “But you’ve never said it outloud before.”

“I’ve told you, your ego doesn’t need this kind of boost.” Clarke says lightly, fighting down a blush. Bellamy has no problem letting her know how hot he thinks she is, but there’s something about being caught out at telling him she finds him attractive that feels weirdly like an admission. There’s no reason for it that she can think of, so to cover her embarrassment she reaches for her sketch pad. “Ok, give it back.”

“I’m not done,” Bellamy protests tipping back in his chair out of her reach.

“Bellamy,” Clarke laughs, getting up to come around the table. “Give me my pad back.”

“You can’t rush art, Clarke!” Bellamy says, laughing as he turns his back on her defensively, “You can’t- oh ok, I guess you can.” Bellamy surrenders with his hands up as Clarke wrestles her notebook away from him. She sticks her tongue out at him with a smile and then looks down at what he’s drawn.

It’s a little stylized cartoon of herself. It’s cute, a technique clearly learned in childhood, self taught from a comic book perhaps, and perfected over time. It actually manages to capture the likeness of her face and the fall of her hair across her shoulders well for the style he’s used. He’s caught her looking peaceful, relaxed in a way that Clarke doesn’t immediately recognize as herself. It’s nice though, to see that side of herself through Bellamy’s eyes.

“Ok, it’s not bad,” Clarke admits, pleased at his rendition of her.

“‘Not bad,’ she says,” Bellamy gripes as he turns in his chair to look with her at the picture. His thumb comes up and absentmindedly rubs at the skin of her hip where it’s exposed above her jeans. “The highest compliment I could receive, it’s so…” he trails off, his hand stilling at her hip and Clarke glances down at him. 

Bellamy has pushed her shirt up a bit and his fingers are hovering over the distinct finger-shaped bruises he left on her yesterday when he had snuck up on her in the kitchen, bent her over the counter and fucked her. He touches one, almost reverently, just fitting his finger lightly over the bruise so that his finger lines up with it. 

“Huh,” he says a bit gruffly. “I left these.”

“Don’t tell me you’re surprised. You bite my shoulders all the time.” Clarke leans a bit into his touch and Bellamy steadies her.

“Sure, but you put cover-up on those. These are just there on your skin, right under your shirt.” He strokes his fingers over them again and looks up at her.

“Didn’t know you had a thing about marks,” Clarke teases him and his eyes darken.

“It’s hot, Clarke. That’s all, it’s hot.”

She thinks about the way her nails leave sharp red trails down his back, how she likes that. Thinks about finding these very same bruises this morning in the mirror before her shower: the rush it gave her then, the way they were so dark against her pale skin. She thinks she agrees with Bellamy’s assessment.

“Speaking of sex.”

“We weren’t, technically,” Clarke teases him.

“It was heavily implied and now I’m think about sex,” Bellamy says, bratty, and ghosts his fingers up her side under her shirt. 

“You’re the worst.”

“Probably, Why’s your shirt still on though, huh?” Bellamy smirks at her, hot and dark and fuck it. Clarke wants it too. She straddles him in his chair and gets her hands in his hair. He tilts his head up to look at her and Clarke suddenly has to fight down the urge to taste the freckles on his face. She kisses him instead and the satisfied, encouraging noise he makes is just as good. 

Clarke flicks her tongue along the seam of Bellamy’s lips and he opens his mouth to her with a grin she can feel on his mouth. She curls her tongue around his and then lets him chase it into her own mouth where she sucks on it, filthy and slow. Bellamy groans and grabs at her hips. She feels him start to get hard against her thigh.

“Come on,” he says when she lets him up for breath. “I’ve been thinking of getting you on your hands and knees all afternoon. Let me treat you right, huh baby?”

“I don’t know, think you’ve earned it?” She teases.

Bellamy’s eyes flash. “Fuck, Princess I gotta earn it now? Baby, you know I’m good for it. You now how I make you come. You going to let me, Clarke? You gonna let me make you feel good? Say it, say you’ll let me.” He mouths at her chin and licks at her neck, traces her collarbone with his tongue, his eyes bright as he looks up into hers. “I want to, babe, I want to get you off.”

He sneaks his fingers across her stomach and drags them down the front of her jeans. He settles his hand palm up on his thigh between them, the heel pressed against her, giving her something to grind on even as he presses at her tailbone, encouraging her. “See?” He asks as her breath catches, “See? Don’t I make you feel good?”

“You do alright at it,” Clarke concedes and kisses him to shut him up.

She gets too hot after a while to stay on the chair. As great a case as Bellamy is making for it, she wants more. She gives him one more kiss, nipping at his lip even as she lifts herself off his lap. She admires how he’s kiss-flushed, how he blinks his eyes open, slow. “Hey,” he rasps, voice stuck in his throat. “Where you going?”

“I thought you said something about getting me on my hands and knees. Maybe I’m wrong but-“ she interrupts herself with her own laughter at how quickly Bellamy surges out of his seat. He grabs at her and hoists her up like she weighs nothing. Clarke wraps her legs around his waist and kisses him even as he tries to navigate them into her bedroom. He bumps them into her bedroom doorframe and Clarke is still laughing when he dumps her on the bed and crawls over her.

“You’re the worst.” He throws her words back at her, chuckling. His eyes are warm when he ducks to kiss her again, Clarke already in the process of pulling him down. It’s a sweet kiss, not as rough as they usually are with each other, but it still makes Clarke’s stomach flip. Bellamy braces himself over her and makes it last, stroking the hair out of her face. When he pulls back, he shakes his head like he’s clearing it.

“Hmm.” He smoothes his hand down from her neck to her waist. “You’re still wearing your shirt, Princess. Let’s get it off you, huh?” 

Clarke helps him pull it over her head. Her fingers are at the buttons of his shirt before he can even toss hers on the floor. She gets her hands on the skin of his sides and rakes her nails down, making Bellamy bite at her shoulder.

“Feeling feisty, huh?” Bellamy breathes into her neck and pulls on her hair; Clarke shivers at the dual assault. He kisses her under her jaw and drags his teeth down the column of her throat. “Want me to fuck it out of you? Get you off until you can’t think anymore?”

Clarke’s body lights up at that and she moans, arching up into him to feel him against her. He uses his weight to bear her back down onto the mattress, blanketing her heavily.

“Yeah, that’s what you want. I know. You don’t need to worry,” Bellamy says, pulling one bra strap down her arm so he can kiss unencumbered at her shoulder and the top of her breast. “I’m going to make sure you get what you need, Clarke.”

He takes his time after that which, come on: it’s infuriating. The drag of his skin against her own, the way his hands run over her body, the warmth of his chest, the wet slide of his mouth as he lingers at her tits, kissing first one and then the other, it drives her crazy. Clarke tries all the usual tricks that get to Bellamy, arches, whines, says “please” as prettily as she can, but he just laughs into her skin and sucks a mark into the curve of her arm. When Clarke gets her hands on him, he grasps both of her wrists in one hand and braces it over her head. “Fuck,” Clarke moans, tugging against his strength, and feels Bellamy’s smile on her ribcage.

“Mmhmm,” Bellamy murmurs, looming over her prone form. “That’s right, I’ve got you. You just need to relax. Can you do that, Princess? Can you let me take care of you?” He kisses her before she can answer, languid and indulgent and deep. Lets her up once she’s gasping against his mouth. “Can you?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, Bellamy, I can do that.” 

“Good girl,” Bellamy says hotly, “God you are such a sight. You should see yourself, Clarke.” He rubs his thumb over her bottom lip. “You look like you were made to be fucked, you get me that hot.” He squeezes her wrists in his hand. “Keep ‘em up here for me, Princess. I need both my hands to give you what you need.” 

He’s smug as he goes back to mouthing at her tits. He sucks her left nipple into his mouth, flicks his tongue over it, sucks gentle, lazy, then hard and gets his teeth on it. Clarke whimpers at the sweet ache of it, tangling her fingers in her pillowcase to keep from reaching for his head. He gives her right nipple the same treatment, slow and unhurried. 

He finally lets up to get her out of her jeans and underwear, stripping them down her legs and drawing back to help get the slim fit over her ankles, lingers to bite at the arch of her foot. He eyes her as she does, hungry, and Clarke knows she flushes under his gaze. Bellamy smirks and palms himself through his jeans. “So fucking sexy.” He undoes his jeans and shucks them and his boxers off. “What do you think? Want my mouth on you? Want me to lick your cunt? Have I earned that yet, Princess?” 

Clarke rolls her eyes and hmms as if she’s considering it. Bellamy kisses her ankles, sucking a bruise into the delicate skin. “Alright,” Clarke allows. “If you really want, Bellamy, I’ll let you eat me out.” 

“Aw, thanks Clarke. Really, thank you from the bottom of my heart, I don’t know-”

“Shut up,” Clarke laughs, sitting up to yank on his arm so he’ll come back down and kiss her again. “God, Bellamy, shut up. Yes, I want you to eat my cunt. Is that what you want to hear? I want you to make me come while you suck on my clit.” 

Bellamy groans into her mouth, kisses her hard, teeth clicking against hers. “Fuck, Clarke. So fucking dirty.” She’s skeptical about that compared to some of the things he’s told her today alone, but it’s worth it for the shock of hot desire that spark’s in Bellamy’s eyes. “It’s so hot, it’s so hot. Lay back, babe, c’mon, lay back and let me give it to you.” 

Clarke waylays him with another kiss, making it slow, laving her tongue on Bellamy’s like she would on his cock, on another girl’s clit and Bellamy grabs at her, pushing her back into the bed and biting her neck, her collarbone, her ribcage, a bit wild with it as he gets back between her legs. He dawdles at her belly, biting fiercely at the soft flesh right under her navel and then just nibbling at it, rubbing his face against her, affectionate like a cat. “This part of you,” he says against her skin, “right here, it’s so fucking sexy. You’re so soft here.” He leaves her with a kiss there and then pushes her legs further apart so he can stretch out between them. 

“Man,” he says, stroking his fingers over her and grinning when they come away slick. “You have such a pretty cunt, Clarke.” He leans down and gives her a broad lick and Clarke gasps, cants her hips up to him. “Yeah baby, I’m going to make you feel so good,” Bellamy promises. “You want my fingers too?” 

“Just, um, just your mouth right now.” Clarke bites her lip when Bellamy loops his arms under her thighs and pulls her hips closer.

Bellamy licks her again just teasing long laps of his tongue. He sighs at the taste of her and pushes his whole face into her, brushing his nose across her clit. He slips his tongue into her, keeping it soft and lazy, pulsing into her, then points it and jabs it into her quick, making Clarke moan. It has nowhere near the reach of his fingers of cock and it makes her ache for more. 

When he turns his head to bite at her thigh she can feel how wet his mouth and chin are and it makes her cunt clench. “Yeah,” he says into her skin as he strokes his thumb along her hip bone, “you feel how wet you got me? You’re dripping, Princess.”

He circles her clit with the tip of his tongue, just a light tease and Clarke flexes her hips trying to get more. Bellamy nips light and barely there at her labia. “What did I say, Clarke? You gotta lay back and let me take care of you.”

“I hate you,” Clarke whines when he returns to teasing her, just light flicks that spark too brief flashes of pleasure. “So much Bellamy. Hate you so much.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” he laughs and then closes his mouth sudden and hot over her. He sucks in pulsing, hard draws and groans against her as Clarke shudders, the sensation suddenly too much. Bellamy presses the flat of his tongue against her and shakes his head back and forth, vigorous and fast. His hands on her hips keep her too close to wiggle away from the sharp, intense pleasure and Clarke shakes and shakes under his mouth, whining in her throat. 

She grabs at him, needs his curls in her hands to ground her as he keeps her under the assault of pleasure. Bellamy arrests her hands faster than she knew was possible, cages them in his large hand and holds them to the side of her body. He keeps rubbing his tongue on her, flicking back and forth up and down, slow undulating waves, until Clarke is clenching down on nothing, eyes squeezed shut and making noises she hadn’t known she could make, high and wanting. She’s right on the edge, she’s so close, if Bellamy would just- and he does, drawing her clit back into his mouth and sucking on her hard and long.

“Damn, Clarke,” Bellamy says, low and hot, wiping his chin with his palm and then rubbing it into her inner thigh. “That was a good one, huh? Didn’t I tell you I was good at making you come?” 

“Stop fucking gloating,” Clarke says, a little light headed, grinning in spite of herself as her body still trembles. “It’s not a good look on you.” 

“Nah.” Bellamy runs his fingers over her light and Clarke twitches. “Everything’s a good look on me. What do you think, one more before I fuck you? You’re going to feel so good on my cock. You always do, Princess, so hot and wet. Mm, you want one more? Let me give you one more.”

He slips one finger inside her, rotating it slowly and yeah, Clarke wants to come again.

“I’m not going to stop you.” She’s already a bit distracted by the slow movement of Bellamy’s finger inside of her and she flexes her hips again to try to get the right angle.

“Still trying to help. You know, I appreciate the sentiment, Clarke, but you gotta trust me. I can get you off, babe, I can get you off and all you gotta do is lie there.” Bellamy pulls his finger free and uses the leverage he has on her hips to flip her over onto her stomach. He keeps a hand heavy on her lower back to stop her from pulling her knees under her. “What do you say, Clarke, can you let me do that?”

Clarke looks over her shoulder, answers his cocked eyebrow with her own smirk and pulls a pillow down to rest her head on. “Ok. Alright Bellamy.” 

“You’re going to be good for me?” 

“Yeah. I’ll- I’ll be good for you.” Clarke tries not to flush but knows that it stains her cheeks and her neck regardless. Bellamy leans up to kiss her under jaw again and she feels his smile there, the one that usually makes him look goofy like a little kid. 

“Good girl,” he says into her ear. “Comfy?” 

Clarke nods and wraps her arms around the pillow. Bellamy moves back down between her legs and runs a hand appreciatively over her ass. He squeezes it and bites at the curve of it. “Your ass,” Bellamy muses and slaps it. “Aw, yeah that’s so hot. You’ve got a great ass, Princess.” He licks where her thigh meets her butt and nips playfully. Clarke sighs a bit instead of reaching back to grab his hair and Bellamy bites harder. “I know you like that, yeah I know that gets you hot.”

He slides two fingers back into her and Clarke gasps for real at that. This position makes everything more intense, makes Bellamy’s fingers feel bigger and every light twitch of them makes her gasp. He knows, if his chuckle is anything to go by. Bellamy presses down toward her stomach and drags his fingers back, rubbing his other hand at her inner thigh.

“Does that feel good?” he asks, like he can’t hear her quiet noises she’s trying to muffle into her pillow.

“Yeah, Bellamy. It feels good, feels so good.”

“You feel so sweet, Princess. Want another one? Want some more, really make you feel it?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I want another one. Give me another one.” 

“So demanding,” Bellamy tells her even as he slides his ring finger inside her and Clarke can’t help it, she thrashes at the full feeling, at how his fingers grind down inside her so intensely and Bellamy pushes down on her lower back again, keeping her still and bites her ass. She whimpers.

“Oh, Princess, oh baby, I know. I know you can’t help it, it feels that good, doesn’t it? That’s ok, it’s ok, babe, you’re so good. Let me hear, huh? I want to hear what this does to you.” He fucks her slow with his fingers, making them drag and twists them as she clenches down on them. Clarke whimpers, fists her hands in her own hair and tugs, legs trembling as Bellamy thrusts with more force but still just as slow, just as deep and intense, twisting his fingers, his thumb brushing against her clit. 

“Yeah, Clarke?” he asks, voice gravelly, “what do you want? You want to come again? Getting close, aren’t you? Tell me, baby, tell me.” 

Clarke doesn’t think she’s capable of words at this point she just shakes and shakes and Bellamy grinds down with his fingers and rubs her clit rough and messy with his thumb. Clarke manages one high “yeah, please” before she’s coming, harder than before. She feels the clench of her body on Bellamy’s fingers, the way he stills, thumb just pressed against her clit, grounding her as she shudders and twitches as it roars hot and sweet through her body. 

She’s giggling, she can’t help it, she feels that good when she comes down. Bellamy’s smiling against her thigh as he gently pulls his fingers free. He slides his body over hers, blanketing her under him and smoothes the hair she’s mussed with her own hands back from her face so he can kiss the corner of her mouth. She turns so she can kiss him properly, sloppy and fucked out, still giggling as her body settles.

“I never thought you laughing at me in bed would be this hot,” Bellamy says. He scratches his nails against her scalp and nibbles at the side of her jaw thoughtfully. “You feeling good? Want to take a break?”

He’s hard against her ass, hard and hot and wet at the tip. Despite everything, Clarke still wants him, wants to feel how full he makes her, how his eyebrows crease and his hands get mean and possessive on her body when he’s inside her. “You still haven’t gotten me on my hands and knees, Bellamy. I’m starting to think you’re all talk.” He huffs in amusement into her neck.

“You’re right, I’ve really let you down. Alright, come on.” He tugs up on her hips and helps her settle on her trembling knees, running his hands down her thighs appreciatively. Clarke braces herself on her forearms as Bellamy pulls out condoms and lube from her drawer. She turns her head to watch him roll one on and slick himself up. He catches her watching and she bites her tongue at him, teasing.

He lines himself up behind her, teasing his cockhead over her labia, rubbing it at her clit. Clarke sucks air through her teeth, over sensitive and Bellamy makes a sympathetic noise. He pushes just the tip into her and his hands find her hips, hot and heavy.

“You’ve been so good for me, Clarke. You go ahead now, you go ahead and fuck yourself on my dick. You’ve earned it, Princess.”

Clarke laughs, and then shoves her hips back at Bellamy, sinking him into her until his hips are flush with her butt. Bellamy grunts in surprise and his fingers flex at her hips. “Clarke,” he says, voice shot, but Clarke is already grinding her hips against him, rocking back and forth, keeping him inside her. She doesn’t think she can come again, but he feels so good inside her and the noises he’s making, short huffs, a cut off groan, her name on his breath, it’s fucking hot.

“Oh fuck, baby, oh fuck, you feel so good.” He slides his hands up to grab at her tits, feeling the weight of them in his palms, thumbing at her nipples and Clarke arches her back, tosses her head back and Bellamy obligingly wraps one hand in her hair and gives it a little tug. It’s so hot to feel Bellamy begin to lose it behind her, his hips twitching against hers, leaning forward to bite at her shoulder blades. “Clarke, babe. Do you want… mm, do you want me to get you off again? You make me feel so good, you want me to make you feel good too?”

“You got it, “ she tells him, “you’re good, Bellamy, you’re good.” He groans and buries his face in her neck. “Yeah,” she says, low and just for him. “You feel so good, Bellamy. You going to come inside me? Am I going to make you come?”

“Yes,” Bellamy breaths out, a little desperate and honest against her throat. “Yes, Clarke.

“Good. C’mon. I want to feel it. I want to feel you lose it, Bellamy. I want to feel it.” His hands go crazy on her, grabbing at her hips again, squeezing, one sliding to her stomach, holding her gentle even as he snaps his hips into her, sudden and deliberate and he sinks his teeth into the tendon in her shoulder.

Clarke rocks back to meet his next thrust and tightens around him and Bellamy loses it, thrusts wild and then jerky and short, his face pressed back into her neck. Clarke talks him through it as he gives one more shudder and then leans his weight into her. Clarke lets him bear her back down into the bed, letting her legs slip out from under her so that she’s flat under him and Bellamy’s hand on her ribs is smooth and slow, stroking his thumb over the ridges under the skin.

“Damn,” he says after a minute, voice still a little gruff. “I’ve told you you’re something else?” 

“Can’t keep track of everything you tell me.” Clarke turns her head and kisses him, just lips moving gently on lips and Bellamy sighs, happy.

“Me either,” he admits, “you get me going.” He shifts to the side so his weight isn’t crushing her and tugs her so she’s snuggled up into his chest. Clarke feels his heartbeat slow against her chest and pushes his sweaty curls off his forehead.

**

December feels short for all of them. Before they know it, it’s the middle of the month and everyone is rushing to finish projects and meet deadlines before the New Year. Many of their group have plans to see family in the week between Christmas and New Years and in a rushed vote at their movie night, they agree it’s easier to exchange their Secret Snowflake gifts one on one rather than have a large party as originally planned since there’s no longer a convenient night in December that is open for all of them.

Clarke doesn’t mind at all. Her Psych final is fast approaching and she’s picked up extra hours at the clinic so she can take time off around Christmas to take a small trip with her mom. Which will be fun, she tells herself. Definitely fun. In the free time she does have, she hunts for a gift for Monroe. 

Monroe is by no means her closest friend in their group, but she is fond of the girl: a year younger than her but tough as nails and her imitations of Murphy are on point. Clarke manages to find time to make her a personalized card with bright blocks of color and big print wishing her a happy New Year, since Monroe doesn’t celebrate any of the religious winter holidays. She finds Broad City themed Saint Candles on etsy with Ilana and Abbi’s faces on them and gets them overnighted. She finds a free afternoon and takes Monroe out to lunch at the same dive bar that she and Raven like to give them to her.

“Clarke, these are perfect!” Monroe says as she unwraps them. “Seriously, I’m putting them in my living room so I can just look at them all the time.” 

“I’m so glad you like them,” Clarke says and accepts Monroe’s hug. “Who do you have?”

“Miller.” Monroe says, tucking the candles and card into her bag and picking up the remains of her sandwich. “I was initially thinking about getting him a used copy of Skyrim since he’s never played, but now that he and Monty are a thing, I’m thinking a gag gift of lots and lots of condoms and lube.” 

“Good plan,” Clarke laughs. She’s becoming more and more grateful that she and Bellamy have kept their physical relationship a secret. She couldn’t have handled what her friends are lovingly but insistently putting Monty and Miller through: sly looks, wolf whistles, off hand comments. It would have made her second guess the ease of what she and Bellamy share, the way they coexist both alone and among their friends with an innocuous comfort in physical proximity and attuned silent understanding that comes from spending lazy hours in each other’s presence. Still, Monty and Miller are taking it all in stride and with good humor so Clarke figures they can handle it.

“When do you head out with your mom?” Monroe asks as they linger to say goodbye outside of the bar. 

“In five days,” Clarke says with a shake of her head, “and I have my psych exam the day after tomorrow and three extra shifts at the clinic to get through before I can go.”

“Back in time for New Years?” Monroe wonders and Clarke shakes her head.

“As much as I regret it, my mom wants us to stay through the third. I’d much rather be with you all.”

“Well, I’ll take a shot for you,” Monroe promises and gives Clarke another quick hug. “Travel safe. See you when you get back.” 

“Get Octavia extra drunk for me,” Clarke makes her promise and then goes to her final meeting with Professor Kane before her final. 

Even with their busy schedules, Bellamy is becoming a fixture in her apartment. He’s been saddled last minute with grading the final essays for his class and he growls at every bullshitted inaccuracy he can find. Although Clarke is just as stressed out about her own exam coming up, she makes a game out of it. 

“Did he even _read_ the chapter on Justinian? Or bother to ask Charlotte? I swear she sits right next to him and he… Why are you laughing?” Bellamy asks, squinting up at her through his glasses.

“Just adding to the tally. You’re hovering dangerously between ‘Ron Swanson’ grumpy and ‘Old Man Shouts at Cloud’ grumpy on this essay, just so you know.” Clarke informs him, looking up from the tallies in the margins of her notes with a grin.

“Is the Old Man one the highest?” Bellamy asks, craining his neck to see.

“You blew past Oscar the Grouch and Nick Miller. The other essays didn’t even get close to Ron Swanson levels of grump.”

“Huh. Is it every time I say something?” Bellamy asks, sliding her notebook across the table to figure out her tallying system.

“Every time you complain, per essay, there’s a mark. Four marks in each category,” Clarke tries to explain her slap-dash rule system. 

“Is there a point to this game?” Bellamy looks at her skeptically as he slides her notebook back to her. 

“It’s just nice to know I’m not the only one stressed out right now,” Clarke tells him and Bellamy’s eyes soften. 

“Trust me, you’re not.” He scrubs a hand across his face and checks the time. It’s getting on in the afternoon, not close to when they normally break but Bellamy makes thoughtful noise.

“How many times have you gone through your flashcards?” 

Clarke sighs and drops her cards on the table. “Like three times today. My brain is fried.”

“Ok, I’m calling it,” Bellamy stands and stretches his arms over his head, “You’re going to drive yourself crazy if you keep going over everything you already know.” His shirt rides up on his stomach and Clarke can’t help the way her eyes fall to his stomach and the lines of his hips. “I’m instigating a mandatory study break for the rest of the afternoon, effective immediately. Come on.”

Clarke hesitates for only a moment before she lets Bellamy tug her up and push her playfully toward the couch. “What are you thinking, movie marathon? I’ve definitely got some microwave popcorn around here somewhere.”

“Movie marathon, makeout marathon… I’m not picky.” Clarke smiles and turns so that Bellamy nearly runs into her and cranes her neck up for a kiss. He laughs against her mouth and steadies himself with hands heavy on her hips, kissing her with a smile, slow and friendly and easy.

“Hey,” he says, pulling back just a breath and going a bit cross eyed as he tries to look at her. 

“Hi,” she says back and leans up to press another kiss to his mouth. They linger there for a moment in the liminal space between her living room and dining room, their lips pressing languidly together, soft and sweet. It feels good to just kiss him like this, his hands warm on her body, his fingers teasing just under the hem of her shirt and finding the dimples in her back, stroking over them once before he lets his fingers settle on them. Clarke slides her hands up his chest to cup his neck, thumb tracing the underside of his jawline.

Bellamy is the first to draw away, using his grip on her hips to keep her from following him up on her toes. “I, uh,” he says and clears his throat, voice a bit gruff, “I have something for you.”

“Yeah?” Clarke raises her eyebrows at him, still focused mostly on his mouth. 

“Yeah I’m your Secret Snowflake, or whatever,” Bellamy says with a little shrug and nudges her back gently. Clarke lets him retrieve his bag from where he’d dropped it next to his usual chair. From it he pulls two very neatly wrapped packages, both flat rectangles, one larger than the other. “Uh, here,” Bellamy says, offering them to Clarke, not quite meeting her eyes. 

Clarke accepts them delightedly and sits down on her couch to open them. “What are they?” she asks, mostly because she knows it’ll rile Bellamy up. She’s not wrong.

“That would spoil the surprise,” Bellamy grumbles flopping down next to her and nudging her with his knee. He leans back to watch her as she opens the larger one first. It’s a picture frame, the kind that has several different photo displays built into it of varying sizes. Bellamy has placed pictures of their friends in them, cut and mounted and arranged so that he’s included at least one picture of everyone. The photos are perfect- each carefully chosen to capture a distinct characteristic of one of her friends: Monty and Miller are looking skeptical but amused in one; Octavia looking bright eyed but with a just a hint of ‘fight me’ in her eyes; Raven flexing her muscles cockily. The largest photo at the bottom of the frame is their group picture from Friendsgiving, everyone looking startled at Monroe’s last second shriek, except for Murphy who’s cheesing hard.

“It’s like that app, uh…. O called it a Picstitch?” Bellamy says after a beat. “You said that you liked photos and I thought this would take up less room on your table but you could still see everyone,” Bellamy says, sounding like he’s doubting himself at Clarke’s silence, but in reality her throat’s closed with emotion. 

“Bellamy, I love it,” Clarke says. “It’s so great.” She looks up at him and smiles a little wetly. “Really, I love it so much.” Bellamy smiles back, his smile a bit self conscious but pleased. 

“Open the other one?” 

“Ok,” Clarke says, almost not wanting to put down the frame. She sets it carefully on her coffee table for the time being and carefully unwraps the smaller parcel.

It’s another framed photo, the wood of the frame a dark mahogany color. The photo is one she recognizes instantly: it’s the selfie they took on Friendsgiving, heads tilted together, grinning unselfconsciously at the camera Clarke holds out in front of them. 

“Do you like it?” Bellamy asks after a moment, shifting next to her. 

“Yeah… yeah Bellamy, it’s great.” She looks up at him. “I didn’t have a picture of us together before. Thank you.” 

She gets up with the pretense of putting both frames on her coffee table, but in reality it’s to give herself a second to school her expression. The sight of that photo of them together, tipsy and smiling and touching so confidently does something funny to her, something she instinctively doesn’t want to think about. When she turns back to look at Bellamy on her couch, she finds him sprawled comfortably and looking at her with an expectant, tentative smile. 

“Thank you,” she says again, because she doesn’t know what else to say, can’t put words on the unexpected, sudden rush of emotion. She forces the feeling down, taking a careful breath and smiles back at him, watching his eyes crinkle. 

“You like them? Really?”

“Yes, really, you nerd. I love them.” She collapses back down on the couch next to him and settles into his side as he makes room for her, one arm stretched along the back of the couch and his thumb absentmindedly scritching into her shoulder. His touch helps her resettle in her body and she grins up at him. “Want to make out while we watch old movies?”

“Princess,” Bellamy drawls even as he hitches her closer and ducks his head so he’s breathing the words with a smirk against her mouth, “I can’t think of anything I want more.” 

They do more than make out, they end up stretched out on their sides, stripped of clothing and the volume way down low on the TV as Greta Garbo waltzes across the screen. It’s lazy as they get each other off with their hands, too busy kissing to progress to anything more vigourous. Bellamy fits two fingers inside her and twists his wrist until every twitch of his fingertips makes Clarke gasp weakly against his mouth. She works him tortuously slow in return, hand just slicked with spit, firm and tight on his dick as she strokes him and teases her fingers over the head of his cock until his hips twitch helplessly. After, he tangles his fingers in her hair and rests his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling, her cheeks flushed and his long lashes brushing his cheek bones. 

Clarke shivers as the sweat cools on her skin and Bellamy smooths his hand down her arm. “Chilly?” He rumbles at her.

“A bit. I’m going to grab a sweater. Want one?” Clarke asks as she sits up. Bellamy shakes his head and props himself up to grab his jeans and boxer briefs from the floor. 

“Nah, I’m good.” Clarke leaves him to get dressed and ducks into her room for a sweater, takes a second to wash her hands clean in the bathroom. When she comes back, Bellamy is flipping through her sketchpad. He closes it and puts it back on the side table and leans over the arm of the couch to look at her. “So when you said a sweater, you meant just a sweater.”

Clarke grins at him, stretching her arms overhead so that her overlarge sweater rides up enough to reveal the lace of her white panties and Bellamy’s gaze darkens. He shakes his head. “Goddamn tease,” he mutters reaches out, catches the hem of her sweater between this fingers and tugs so she’ll come closer. He pushes her sweater up and kisses her stomach, lips warm and light. Clarke scrubs her nails through his hair, fond, both tidying the swirl of curls on his forehead and mussing it at the back. 

“You’re doing ridiculous things to my hair, aren’t you?” Bellamy asks, looking up at her, eyes half closed in pleasure from her fingers. 

“It doesn’t need my help to be ridiculous,” Clarke teases him and traces the shells of his fingers lightly. “Are you hungry?”

“Mm,” Bellamy hums mildly, face turned back into her stomach and Clarke laughs at him and steps away to get the take out menus they’ve accrued over the course of their friendship. She sits back on the couch next to him and tugs a blanket over her lap. 

“Indian, Thai or Chinese?” 

A few hours later, Thai takeout cartons spread in front of them and Clarke tucked sleepily into Bellamy’s side, Bellamy sighs and rubs at her arm, an attention seeking gesture. “I should get going. You need to get sleep tonight for your final and I still have some essays to grade.” 

“Ok,” Clarke says, sitting up so he can stand. He collects his things and then wraps an arm around her shoulders and gives her a quick squeeze. 

“Get some sleep. You’ll do great tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Bellamy.” She closes the door behind him, grinning at his little, over the shoulder wave as he goes. She takes a moment to tidy up her livingroom, collecting the styrofoam cartons and grabbing the empty beer bottles from the table. She comes back to the couch to refold the blanket and pauses in front of her little photo table. Leave it to Bellamy to get her something so simple yet so thoughtful. She doesn’t recognize the pictures except for the group one, which meant Bellamy must have either asked for pictures from their friends or took the pictures himself.

And the picture of them together… Clarke picks it up to look at it again. They look so happy, she thinks, so easy together. Bellamy’s smile, it’s the one she’s only learned in the past few months, childish in its size and enthusiasm, charming in its sincerity. It looks almost out of place, she realizes, because she’s never seen it in a photo before. She’s only ever seen it directed at her or Octavia, so rarely does it make an appearance. He should smile like that more often, Clarke thinks warmly. She wants to make him smile like that more, coax it out of him so that whatever he’s complaining or grumbling or worried about leaves his mind for just a moment, give him a moment’s respite. With a clench and release of tension in her abdomen, an ache in her chest that settles sharp and sweet and familiar between her ribs, she realizes with a jolt that it’s not a new desire for her, to make Bellamy happy.

She wonders, suddenly, when she started caring about his happiness. When she started caring about his stories, his life, his future, his laughter. When she started being able to read his expressions so easily, when she could meet his eyes and know what he was thinking. When it started feeling so right to lean into his side and have him touch her without the sole intention of getting off together. Jesus, Clarke thinks, still staring at the photo of them, Jesus… 

It’s been a process she hadn’t paid any attention to because it had never been her intention to get here. She had followed this path blindly, backward, because it had felt good and easy and simple, the mantra of “no feelings, no strings” a lie cheerfully believed while underneath… underneath something grew. Fast or slow or steady with the drum of her heart, Clarke has no idea, but it had been tended unknowingly, fed and watered and encouraged so that now it stood right there behind her, at the end of this unknown journey, trembling with life and breath and just waiting for her to turn her head and catch sight of what it was. 

When Clarke looks at her face in the picture, she knows what it is. It’s etched in her smile and the light in her eyes and the inclination of her head. There’s a wild panic that rises in her suddenly and Clarke has to put down the picture and step back from the table, shivering suddenly in the warmth of her apartment, because it’s too much. It’s not fair, she thinks suddenly, angrily, it’s not fair that this is where she is. But as her smiling face stares up at her from the table, as Bellamy grins next to her behind the glass, it’s a truth she knows she cannot escape. 

And now the creature, born in secret and darkness, unasked for yet insistent it’s presence, has felt her attention and wants more. Clarke stands facing it, because there is nothing else for it, because it has breathed light and freedom and it crawls over her slowly, a slow warmth over her head, a gentle, curling sensation in her breast. And if Clarke were to name it, for it will not be returned to the dark recesses of her mind and her heart now that she has leant it her attention for a moment… if she were to name it, she knew it would be called love.

**

Clarke falls asleep thinking about Bellamy and wakes with Octavia’s voice in her head, _there are people out there who make the risk of falling in love worth it_. She thinks about it while she makes her breakfast of yogurt and granola, makes her coffee and catches herself measuring out enough for two people out of habit. If she were to be with Bellamy, it could be easy. All the little things that make her feel good about being around him, she could have that all the time. And she could have more. She could wake up with him in her bed more often, he could join her in the shower in the morning, stay and have breakfast with her before his classes. She could kiss him goodbye when he leaves, kiss him hello, kiss him in front of her friends, kiss him out on the dance floor of TonDC and not have to wonder if his beer changed the way he tasted. 

And more than that, she could know his soul. Bellamy has so much to him, so much kindness he doesn’t know how to dole out, so much longing for a future where he belongs. They could find that, they could thrive together, push each other, support each other, grow together. They could lie awake at the end of the day and he could tell her all the little things he’s never told anyone. She wants to know him inside and out, all his flaws and his strengths and everything inbetween. 

The thought warms her, fills her with hope. And as fast as that hope blooms she reminds herself to temper it. She doesn’t know how Bellamy feels, at all. Yes, their dynamic has shifted, she thinks, far from what it was that first night he kissed her in Octavia’s kitchen. But since their talk on his stoop in the late August heat, they haven’t ever talked about what they are to each other. He could be happy with what they have now and not want anything further. The thought fills her with cold dread, but she steadies herself with a breath. She’ll talk to him. She’ll talk to him and figure out what he feels. See if he’s open to something more. And if not… well, she thinks, slowly packing up her bag for her test, she’ll have to deal with that if it happens. 

Despite having a pretty good reason to be distracted, Clarke thinks she pretty much nails her psych final. When she turns her test into Kane, he smiles at her warmly through his beard and lays a paternal hand on her shoulder. “Thank you, Clarke. It’s been a pleasure teaching you this semester.”

“Thank you,” Clarke says, smiling back. “I’ve learned a lot.”

“I know you have. I’ll email you your results, alright?” Clarke nods and bundles up to head over to a coffee shop and wait until Octavia gets out of work. She’s forgotten her sketchpad at home, so instead she doodles on napkins as she drinks coffee, thinks about what she might say to Bellamy, what she might say to Octavia if things turn out the way she wants them too. 

Octavia texts her right at five when she gets out and Clarke goes to meet her so they can ride the metro together back to Octavia’s place. It’s odd to see the old apartment filled with boxes, many of the familiar fixtures such as the tapestry Clarke gave Octavia as a graduation present packed away into them. The apartment feels bare but her kitchen is still the bright, happy place Clarke remembers and she sits at the table to cut up onions and veggies while Octavia bangs pots around and talks about Indra’s latest success at work.

“Do you have a date for when you’re actually moving in with Lincoln?” Clarke asks her as she passes Octavia the chopped brussel sprouts.

“Well my lease ends in March, but honestly if I can’t find a subletter by January I’ll just pay the rent and go anyway.” Octavia grins at her and passes Clarke the wine bottle to open. “I’m not waiting three more months to be with Lincoln.”

“I can’t blame you,” Clarke says with a small smile. Something nags at the back of her mind and she realizes that Octavia deserves to know the truth about her and Bellamy. She probably deserved to know after a month of their hooking up, Clarke thinks with a cringe. But if Clarke wants something more with Bellamy, she knows she owes it to Octavia to let her know now. Octavia’s friendship is too important to her to jeopardize it with anything, especially Bellamy. 

“Octavia,” Clarke starts but that moment, Octavia’s door bangs open and Raven comes in, tugging off her jacket and kicking off her boots and swearing about how hot Octavia’s building is.

“Oh, I know,” Octavia says, rolling her eye and gesturing for Clarke to pour Raven a glass of wine. “I hate everything about this place. There are nights when it’s too hot to sleep and then the next day there’s no heat.”

“Sucks,” Raven says, accepting the glass from a Clarke in exchange for a kiss on her cheek. “Octavia, before I forget, I ran into Gina on my way over here and it reminded me-”

“Fucking hell, I meant to tell you,” Octavia says, slamming down a pot lid harder than usual. “I swear to God, I am seriously done with Bellamy.”

“A no-go, then?” Raven asks, taking a sip of wine.

“What’s this?” Clarke asks, lost in her friends’ quick back and forth.

“I have this amazing friend,” Raven starts, leaning back against the counter, “seriously gorgeous, seriously awesome, just like all around a great person. She’s so fun, I’d date her myself if I wasn’t with Wick, and she also doesn’t swing that way so-”

“So you know how I’ve been wanting to set people up recently, right?” Octavia jumps in and Clarke nods slowly, “Right, so Raven tells me about this girl, Gina, asked me if I knew of anyone she might like. Don’t ask me why, but I thought I might try to help my poor, pathetic brother out and set him up on a date. So he was over here the other night, helping me start to pack up, bitching about me moving in with Lincoln, but actually helping and I brought it up with him.” Octavia pauses to take a sip of wine and Raven grins at Clarke, they’re both familiar with Octavia’s penchant for storytelling.

“So, I throw it out there, ‘Raven has this great friend you might like to meet…’ and it’s so fucking typical Bellamy. He just shuts me down.” Octavia drops her voice to mimic her brother’s with terrifyingly accuracy that has come from years of practice. “‘I told you Octavia, I tell you every fucking time you try to do this, I have no interest in dating right now. I’m not into feelings and shit.’ And I say to him, ‘Yeah, Bell, but you haven’t even met Gina and Raven likes her so she must be great.’ And he’s like, ‘If I wanted a goddamn relationship, O, I would have one. I know how to talk to girls, and I know what I want.’” 

Octavia sighs and scratches her neck. “He gave me some bullshit thing about being too busy with school right now and when I pressed he just said he wasn’t into it. I’m starting to think he might actually be aromantic or something.”

“Well,” Raven says with a shrug, “It was worth a shot. I thought they’d be good together, but…” she trails off and looks at Clarke. “Do you know any single guys who are good people?”

Clarke’s hands are cold and her stomach feels like lead but she manages to drag up a smile and shake her head. “Trust me, first one I find I’ll send him your way.”

“Babe, you look a little pale,” Octavia says, swinging in to press her hand to Clarke’s forehead. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah,” Clarke says, giving herself a shake and forcing a small laugh. “Yeah I’m good, probably too much coffee and not enough water today.”

“Well, sit down,” Octavia orders and Raven gets Clarke a glass of water, hovering over her.

“I’m fine, really,” Clarke insists, fighting against the way her throat is closing up. 

“Tell me about your psych final,” Raven says, sitting down next to her. “Did it go ok? I know you’ve been right out straight studying for it, did you sleep last night?”

“Yeah, I think it went well,” Clarke says, thankful for the distraction, thankful to think about something other than Bellamy. Bellamy, who has no interest in relationships, who knows what he wants and it’s not her. That it’s not anyone is hardly a relief, because it just echoes in her head ‘I know what I want right now’. 

She manages to not think about it too much over dinner, tries to soak up the last time she’ll be in this apartment with her two friends she loves so much. Octavia makes amazing pasta and Raven has some great stories about work. They write her silence off as exhaustion and make her promise to get extra sleep tonight when she heads out. It rings eerily reminiscent of Bellamy’s same advice the night before. 

Clarke walks to the furthest metro station she knows near Octavia’s house, lets the cool chill of the evening air help her settle and order her thoughts. Bellamy doesn’t want a relationship. He seems to like what they have, the ease of sex with a friend, but nothing more. Clarke gets that, it hurts like hell, but she gets it. Up until last night it’s all she thought she wanted too… 

_Maybe he’s just never thought of it_ , a voice in the back of her head whispers, _maybe he’d be into it if you told him how you felt_. It’s tempting, for a moment, but the reality of the situation strikes her twofold after only a second. Bellamy had established from the beginning he didn’t want anything more than what they had been doing and Clarke had agreed to it. He had known exactly what he wanted and been upfront with her about it. If his feelings or desires had changed, she knows deep in her bones that Bellamy would have told her. He’s self aware enough, she thinks, that he understands his feelings. 

The second, scarier thought, is what might happen if she did tell him, even knowing he wasn’t in the same place. She knows Bellamy’s loyalty and guesses at his need to provide for people, to support people. It’s the definition of his childhood, hell, it’s the definition of most of his adult life. She knows he’s adrift right now, knows that he’s searching for something to drive him and if she told him… if she told him what she wanted, she fears his response. 

Not even that he would say no, but that he would say yes to her, without wanting it himself. They’re close, close enough that Bellamy could feel obligated to her to try to give her what she wanted. The thought makes her go cold. For Bellamy to act the part, for Bellamy to delude himself into thinking that he could date her without actually wanting to be with her makes her feel sick. She remembers a line from a favorite book, “ _Do you know what an unsuitable match is?”_ The answer, she knows, is when one person loves their partner too much without that ardor being returned. Even if she thought she could stomach dating Bellamy without his sincere affection, the outcome would be terrible. The break up would be horrific, Bellamy most likely driven to repulsion, Clarke either repulsed in return or run down trying to love a man who didn’t love her back.

No, Clarke thinks, that way was not something she could even consider. But nor could she continue with their casual relationship. Her fingers shake as she thinks about it and she bites her lip, leaning her head into the cool metal of the metro stanchion, fighting back tears. She already wants too much. To have Bellamy’s affection and physical intimacy would be torture if she knew he didn’t love her back, if she knew it stemmed merely platonic affection and desire for her body, it would drive her crazy. And even if she could continue, someday, inevitably he would find someone who actually sparked his interest, or someday, inevitably, Clarke would break her own heart waiting for him.

She cries when she gets home. Just gets in the shower and cries, tears and hot water mixed on her face until she feels like she doesn’t have anything left inside. She is drained from the complex, conflicting emotions she’s felt in the last 24 hours, like she’s been through a hurricane and only just made it out the other side alive. It’s funny she thinks, as she crawls in bed, that this time yesterday she had only just realized what she felt for Bellamy. And yet, she knows deep in her bones that she’s loved him for much longer.

She sleeps fitfully, has anxious dreams about Bellamy coming in and out of her apartment, sitting in bed with her, making coffee in her kitchen. Each time she wakes, heart pounding, hand outstretched in front of her, reaching for him. 

Her alarm goes off at eight in the morning and she’s exhausted. She knows she can’t go through another day without decisive action on her part, not when her brain loops over and over again what she needs to do, not when she should be focused on her patients. So she gets up, gets ready, makes herself coffee and then sits at the foot of her bed and calls Bellamy.

**

Clarke tries to put it all out of her head over the next few days at work, focused instead on the busy schedules and her patients that come in with white cold hands and coughs that shake their bodies. When she’s at home, she cleans, shoving magazines and books and whatever else she finds lying around onto the bookshelves in her living room so that her apartment feels a little more organized. 

The worst part of it was, is, Clarke tries to think through the clutter of her mind, that Bellamy didn’t even fight her on it. No, the worst part of it was how he dismissed her, sharp, swift, like how she felt about him was something dirty and distasteful. She had thought, hoped, that maybe it was because she had woken him up, caught him in a bad mood and his tone was more him being half asleep than in response to what she was telling him. But he doesn’t text her and she can’t bring herself to text him.

As much as she can, she decides that it’s something she’ll deal with when she gets home after the New Year. It’s good to see her mom; Abby gives her a huge hug at the airport and buys Clarke coffee and a croissant. Her eyes search Clarke’s face as she talks, and Clarke has to reach out and take her mom’s hand, because as much as they disagree on Clarke’s path, she loves her mom fiercely and knows Abby loves her the same way. 

She lies on a the beach in the Bahamas, she and Abby rent bicycles, take long walks, drink at an oceanfront bar and Clarke laughs with her mom for the first time in what feels like forever. Abby actually listens to her about her work and her art for the first time, and she looks proud. “It’s not what I thought to want for you,” Abby says, “but I can see that you love it.”

It doesn’t allow Clarke too much time to dwell on Bellamy. Her heart hurts, but it’s an ache she’s taken on willingly to spare them both, an ache she thinks she could get used to. She misses him though, not just the sex and his affection and what she wants from him, but his presence, his smile, his grumpy old man attitude. She finds herself excited to see him when she gets home, excited to be in the same place with him and rile him up. If she can show him she’s fine, pretend that her love doesn’t weigh heavily on her, she thinks they can be ok.

Octavia texts her practically the second she lands back in DC. _Dropship Brewery tonight?_ And Clarke grins as she texts her back enthusiastically. She misses her friends, all of them. She has time to drop her stuff at home and take a shower and a nap before she’s due to meet them. She’s a little late arriving, so all her friends are already grouped around one of the larger tables toward the back. Clarke picks her way through the crowd to them and Raven is the first to see her, launching herself away from the table with a delighted cry to give Clarke a hug.

“I missed you!” Raven says and Clarke laughs, hugging her back. 

“I was gone for a week.”

“It was a long week,” Octavia insists, squeezing Clarke as soon as Raven lets her go. “Don’t go away again, ok?”

“I’ll never leave you again,” Clarke says, smiling at them both. It feels like coming home to be around them again. Raven slings her arm around Clarke’s shoulders and pulls her back to their table. 

“We already got you a glass for the pitcher, we figured you’d be thirsty,” Raven says as she hands Clarke a tall pint glass. 

“I usually am,” Clarke laughs and raises her eyebrows at Raven who snorts.

“Nice, Griffin.”

“Thanks, I try.” Clarke takes a sip of her beer and glances across the table at Bellamy, who’s leaning instead of sitting, as is his habit here. He doesn’t meet her gaze, instead he’s staring hard at the table, thumbnail scratching furiously at some grime caught in the groove of the metal surface. Clarke looks at him for a long moment, willing him to look up at her, but when he doesn’t she drops her eyes.

The group chats excitedly for a while, and Bellamy contributes occasionally, the way he always does, but whenever Clarke glances up at him his attention is elsewhere. It feels unnatural, makes her skin crawl anxiously at his refusal to look at her. 

“So tell us,” Monty says, turning to her. “Was it all white sand and blue water?” He smiles at Clarke warmly and Clarke finds a smile to return.

“And above 70 everyday,” she replies.

“Damn,” Miller says, leaning confidently into Monty’s side to butt into their conversation, “next year I’m going with you.”

“We’ll all go next year,” Clarke agrees. “A fam vacation on the beach.”

“Oh!” Octavia looks actually thrilled at the thought. “We always talked about going on a beach vacation, didn’t we Bell?”

Bellamy looks up, mouth a thin line. “I guess we did,” he says slowly.

“Shouldn’t we go with everyone?”

Bellamy smiles. It’s light but Clarke thinks it doesn’t quite touch his eyes. “O, if that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll do.”

“Speaking of what I want,” Octavia says, nudging Bellamy with her elbow. “Our pitcher’s kicked, I want more beer and it’s your turn to buy, so if you don’t mind…” Bellamy gives her an exasperated look but grabs the pitcher and heads in the direction of the bar. 

“I’ll be right back,” Clarke tells Monty quickly, interrupting her own story that she started about the seagull that stole her sunglasses, and subtly ducks through the crowd after Bellamy. She thinks if she can just say something to him, check in, ask about how his holiday was, whatever weird mood he’s in might ease up a bit. If she can just show him she’s ok, maybe he’ll be able to look at her across the table.

She finds him at the bar and squeezes herself through the crush of bodies to fit herself in next to him, not touching him but leaning against the bar.

“Hey,” she says, smiling at him. “How was your Christmas?”

Bellamy turns his head to look at her slowly. She can’t read his expression. “Fine,” he says carefully, dark eyes on her face. “You know, fine.”

“Did you… did you get all your essays graded on time?” Clarke pushes. She doesn’t like that Bellamy is so closed off. There’s a mask firmly in place over his features, walls up behind his eyes and it hurts, hurts her that he feels like he has to keep her at a distance, like she’s not in control of her feelings. “No more Old Man yelling at a Cloud levels of grump at your students?” She says it to make him laugh, smiles to make it light.

Bellamy looks at her hard and then stands up straight from his slouch, sudden. “I’m not sure, “ Bellamy says low and quiet, a muscle jumping in his jaw, “how you except those feelings to disappear if this is how you want to play it, Clarke.”

Clarke feels her mouth go dry and she looks up at Bellamy, shocked at his blunt cruelty. “What?”

“That idea you had of fucking someone else? That’s probably the way to go,” Bellamy advises and tosses down a twenty dollar bill on the counter next to the pitcher. He looks down at her coolly. “Or I’m sure you can find another way to make it happen, you’re full of surprises like that.” 

“Bellamy,” Clarke says, reeling and reaches out to touch his arm, ground herself. This isn’t him, she hasn’t known him to be this cruel. “I just want us to be friends.”

“Right, and it’s all about what you want, isn’t Princess?” Bellamy says, tucking his hands into his pockets, out of her reach, her familiar nickname twisting unpleasantly in his mouth with none of light teasing she’s used to. He makes it sound vicious, poisonous and it makes Clarke feel sick. She’ll give up everything else she wants from him, but he can’t take this away. 

Not the sundrenched afternoons at her dining room table. Not his voice rough and fucked out from wanting her. Not all of the little things that made Clarke feel so safe with him. 

“Listen,” Clarke growls, her temper flaring, “I’m sorry if this has cost you a convenient fuckbuddy arrangement, but whatever those feelings were, they are going to fade, you don't need to be a dick about it.”

Bellamy gives her a long look, eyes livid. “Sure, Clarke,” Bellamy finally says. “Whatever you fucking say.” He leaves her at the bar, turning on his heel and pushing his way roughly through the crowd. 

Clarke barely hears herself order another pitcher, on autopilot when the bartender asks her what she wants and gives her Bellamy’s change. She brings the pitcher back to the table and sets it down carefully. Bellamy is deep in conversation with Monroe and doesn’t even glance at her. She tucks her shaking hands into her sweater sleeves to hide them.

“You ok?” Monty asks her, concern on his face as he looks at her. 

“Yeah, just got a weird wave of jetlag,” Clarke says and thinks she keeps her voice from wavering. “Tell me about your Christmas,” she urges. Monty does, bracing his elbow on Miller’s shoulder and looking like he’s never been happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come hang on tumblr with [me](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/verbam)!


	6. Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, all my love and gratitude to cetaprincipessa for her beta'ing this. And to all of you who are sticking with me, reading, commenting and leaving kudos, THANK YOU! It's so great to hear your feedback and your feelings and it absolutely makes my day!
> 
> A fair warning: this chapter deals with a very bitter fall out from a relationship and anxiety in a pretty real way. It's not the nicest of chapters.

Sometimes on her way home from work on the metro, exhausted and distracted enough not to know better, Clarke will lean her head into the plexiglass of the window and think about the way Bellamy filled her apartment. It was in his physical presence, the way he took over his side of the table with his laptop and essays and tests to grade, _The Poems of Catullus_ always present and at the ready. But it was in the little things too. Things like the way he sighed when he was frustrated. The way his cologne smelled, rich like the smell of pines, a high note of citrus, a lower layer of musk. The click of his laptop keys, the cleaned mugs he left drying by her sink, the curve of his smile against her skin in the warm sunlight, the flash of his eyes when he caught her watching him across the table. 

When she’s tired and rundown, she can’t stop her mind from going there, from thinking about him, because it had been something she could always look forward to in the past. Even if now she feels worse after the fact, the sweetness of the memories turning heavy and weighing her down further, at least for a few moments, she can still imagine she can have it all back. For a few moments, his hand doesn’t twitch away from her touch, his eyes aren’t cold, his jaw doesn’t twitch under the lights at Dropship. For a few moments, she’s in love with him and it’s ok.

It’s been two weeks.

Clarke has started about ten different text messages to him, some she aggressively deletes half way through and some she finishes, her thumb hovering above ‘send’, willing herself just to give it the little tap it needs to go. She never quite manages to. It’s not that she’s afraid that Bellamy is going to be an outright dick, he already has been and if that’s the path he’s chosen, fine, but she deserves an explanation for it. But she is afraid that if she pushes too hard, if he does refuse to speak to her when she tries, then those good things she falls back on will lose the sepia glimmer they have already started to acquire and turn dark and bitter. She wants to believe there’s a reason for this, but she can’t bring herself to ask. She doesn’t think she can handle the refusal in his eyes, the final confirmation that in everything he meant to her, she meant nothing to him. 

So she doesn’t text him. She gives him space when she sees him on weekends. She smiles and laughs with Octavia and Raven and just hopes that he can see she’s not pining over him. And if he believes it, maybe he’ll speak to her again.

**

“Something’s up,” Raven says, frowning down at Clarke, her hands on her hips. Clarke is crouched over a box labeled “living room” trying to figure out why half of Octavia’s sweaters ended up in this one and not the box labeled “closet” and she glances up at Raven curiously.

They’re helping Octavia move and begin to unpack at Lincoln’s place, now officially Lincoln and Octavia’s place, on the promise of beer and pizza for lunch. Although tempting in and of itself, Clarke would have helped regardless. She doesn’t like the uneasy silence that fills her apartment on weekends now. There are too many ghosts. 

She had known that Bellamy was going to be there, but the reality of spending time with him without the soothing effect of alcohol and distraction from her large group of friends makes Clarke’s heart beat painfully in her chest. It’s worsened by the unsurprised but painfully resigned expression Bellamy made when Clarke had shown up as he and Lincoln were unloading the first few boxes. 

Octavia has set her and Raven on living room duty while she helped Lincoln rearrange furniture and closet space in the bedroom, every now and then her laughter ringing brightly through the open door. Bellamy works silently in the kitchen, gruff and answering in monosyllabic grunts when Raven calls to him. 

“With what?” Clarke asks, setting aside a few sweaters to take to Octavia and digging through decorative knick knacks and several collegiate debate team trophies. 

“With you,” Raven says, gesturing expansively at Clarke. “You’re off your game! I just made three spectacular pop culture references and you missed all of them.”

Clarke shrugs. “Sorry, I guess I’m just tired. It’s been a long week.” Raven frowns and crouches down next to her, staring at her hard. “Really, I’m fine,” Clarke insists just as Bellamy appears in the threshold of the kitchen on his way to grab more boxes from Lincoln’s car.

“I don’t know, I think you look a bit pale. Bellamy, back me up here, doesn’t Clarke look paler than usual?”

Bellamy pauses. Clarke glances up at him and she sees his face twitch. It’s the first time she’s actually made eye contact with him in two weeks. Bellamy rolls his shoulders, slouching a bit as he looks at Clarke and then glances at Raven, shrugging. 

“She always looks pale,” Bellamy says harshly, “Hell, I don’t know, Raven. I don’t monitor Clarke’s moment to moment complexion.”

 _You’re flushin’, babe_ , Clarke hears, warm and smug in the back of her head, a flash Bellamy’s hungry eyes as he looks down at her on the bed, his body hovering over hers and she has to shake her head suddenly, reeling from the difference between the Bellamy standing guardedly in front of her, and the Bellamy that pressed his hands into her skin like he owned her.

“Jesus, Blake, eat a snickers if you’re getting testy,” Raven says and rolls her eyes at Clarke. She loves giving Bellamy a hard time when he’s in a mood and Bellamy just shakes his head and heads towards the door, leaving it ajar as he goes down stairs. Clarke tries to smile back at Raven but she feels a bit queasy, feels her throat stick a bit.

“I’ll just grab a glass of water, Raven. Probably not hydrated enough.”

“They say rearranging furniture is the equivalent of working out,” Raven says sagely and slaps Clarke’s hip as she goes. Clarke takes a moment in the kitchen to take a shaky breath and chugs a glass of tap water. She can hear Bellamy’s loud footfall on the stairs and hurries back to the living room. She doesn’t feel up to being trapped with him the small, isolated kitchen. She doesn’t look up at him when he comes in and stumps back to the kitchen. Raven’s ducked into the bedroom and Clarke can hear her and Octavia playfully shrieking at one another and Lincoln’s deep laughter. The stony silence out here feels stifling in comparison, too obvious to be unintentional.

Raven reappears looks a little rumpled but grinning and flops down on the couch. “Couples, man,” she says disparagingly. “Octavia said she was about ready to order pizza. I think we deserve it, aside from her sweaters and that hideous portrait of a bulldog, I think we got everything pretty much squared away. Right, Big Blake?” Raven asks, raising her voice. “You ready to stop being hangry?”

“Fuck you, Reyes,” comes back out of the kitchen and Raven grins again. She can’t hear, like Clarke can, that it’s not Bellamy’s good natured grumpiness. Bellamy’s voice is too dark for that, clinging to control too obviously for Bellamy to be easy in this conversation. Clarke excuses herself to bring Octavia her sweaters.

Octavia orders them two large pizza and Lincoln produces a growler of beer that his friends have homebrewed and Octavia suggests they eat at the dining room table. It’s a long table and Octavia places five plates around one end, she and Lincoln sharing a bench at the head of the table together. Bellamy looks physically pained when he realizes he’s sitting across from Clarke, but scrubs his hand over his face and sits down sullenly. Clarke busies herself putting out glasses for everyone. 

“To us!” Octavia says, happily as she raises her glass. “You guys are seriously the best for helping me get all my crap here. Thank you.” 

“Hey, always happy to help when we get free food thrown into the bargain,” Raven teases Octavia while she puts two slices of pizza on Clarke’s plate and glances at them meaningfully.

“We can probably manage that,” Lincoln agrees and Octavia nods.

“Speaking of food, Lincoln and I were talking about having a little housewarming party, you know, class it up a bit, nice food, cute little invitations, play some silly party games, end up sloppy drunk as usual.”

“Yeah, I can get behind that motion,” Raven says through a mouthful of pizza and Clarke nods too.

“That sounds really fun.”

“Great. So it’s decided. But Raven, you’ll have to give me Wick’s address, ‘cause I want to mail the invitations and I don’t have his,” Octavia says, picking green peppers off her pizza and putting them on Lincoln’s plate.

“Oh,” Raven says, looking a little sheepish. “Um, Wick and and I actually broke up. We’re trying to take some space in our social lives right now, so you might not want to invite him.”

“What?” Clarke asks, shocked. “Raven why didn’t you say anything?”

“I’m saying something now, aren’t I?” Raven asks cagely.

“What happened?” Octavia asks, glancing at Clarke with raised eyebrows. “When did it happen?”

“Last weekend,” Raven says, taking a swig of beer. “But honestly, it’s fine you guys. It was coming for a while. We wanted different things: he wants the whole white picket fence and two-point-five kids and a dog, and I want to stay in the city and live in a loft and have like parakeets or some shit like that. It just got to the point where we couldn’t ignore that anymore.”

“That makes sense,” Clarke says carefully. “But you guys are ok? Work’s not going to be weird?”

“Maybe a little tense for a while,” Raven admits. “But that just means I get to have a lot of anonymous sex and cry into a pint of ice cream a few times and I’ll be good to go. Wick and I both care about what we’re doing and we were friends first. We understand where we’re each coming from, so it’s going to work itself out.” Raven says confidently and flashes them a bright smile.

Bellamy shifts minutely across the table and Clarke glances at him but he’s staring hard at his plate.

“Well, it still sucks. You guys were good together,” Octavia says with a smile at Raven. “But that does mean that we’d have an extra spot. Clarke, are you still seeing Bill? Want to invite him for the hell of it?”

Clarke’s stomach drops and she takes a breath in the pretense of chewing her pizza and swallowing. Without looking at him, she’s aware Bellamy has frozen for a split second before he sets his glass down on the table a little too loudly. 

“No,” Clarke hears herself say lightly as she feels her mouth twist into a defensive smile. “No, we’ve actually stopped.”

“What?! You guys, you have tell me these things, I’m your friend!” Octavia says, dropping her pizza back on her plate and staring hard at both of them. “Seriously, Clarke, what happened? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Leave it alone, O,” Bellamy cuts in, wiping his hands on a balled up napkin and tossing it on the table. “The Princess clearly isn’t that torn up about it. Can’t have ended that badly.”

Clarke feels his eyes on her face and when she looks up to meet them, they’re cold, but there’s a challenge there as well. Fine.

“I thought it was amicable,” Clarke offers and the smile that twists Bellamy’s mouth is mean but he doesn’t say anything else.

“But why-” Octavia starts and Bellamy rounds on her, suddenly vicious. 

“Octavia, Jesus Christ, do we have to talk about this? We’re already here helping you move, do you think you could spare us rehashing every little detail in Raven and Clarke’s personal lives? I, for one, don’t want to fucking hear about it.”

There’s a deafening silence. Octavia looks shocked and then her face darkens.

“Fuck you, Bellamy. You don’t get to dictate what I talk to my friends about. I know you’re having a fucking crisis today because I got rid of that stupid old couch, but don’t fucking take it out on me in front of my friends,” Octavia snarls at Bellamy who glares right back her.

“You know, Octavia, I don’t give a shit what you do with our old stuff. If it doesn’t mean anything to you, fine. Throw it away. But for Christ’s sake, give us a break from acting like some relationship guru just because you’re on Cloud Nine with Lincoln. I’m fucking sick of it.”

“Hey,” Raven snaps even as Clarke gasps, “Bellamy!” He shoots them a withering glance across the table.

Octavia is trembling with anger. “You know what? You can go, Bellamy,” Octavia says softly, eyes steely. Bellamy matches her glare for a moment then pushes his chair back and gets up with barely contained violence shuttering in his frame. The door slams and his heavy, fast footfalls on the stairs echo and then fade in the silence. Octavia looks like she’s going to cry, but shakes her head when Lincoln looks at her questioningly. 

“Fucking asshole,” she whispers and then takes a slow, steadying breath. “Sorry guys,” she says, scrubbing her hand across her face. “Bellamy’s got a stick shoved up his ass and when people poke it he tends to flip out.”

“Are you ok?” Raven asks. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Bell’s just having a hissy fit because I threw out the couch that he bought for us when I was fourteen. I don’t know, I think he’s channelling all his stupid big brother shit about us moving in together into having a meltdown about sentimental value of old furniture.” 

“Well I’m glad he’s handling it maturely,” Raven says sarcastically and shakes her head. 

Octavia takes another breath and Clarke sees her fingers intertwined with Lincoln’s in her lap. “It’s ok,” Octavia says. “I knew there was going to be some explosion at some point, at least it’s over with. Trust me, this is ‘Bellamy The Emotional Catastrophe’ One-Oh-One. He’s going to walk around the city glaring at people, eat an ice cream cone and then start feeling bad and save some cat from a tree.”

“This didn’t even touch what you guys threw down over Thanksgiving,” Lincoln says, a small smile tugging on his lips and Octavia looks at him and giggles. 

“Over the kind of flour he bought?” Lincoln nods, the smile blooming and Octavia grins sheepishly. “Yeah, I know I started that one.”

“Siblings are weird,” Raven says, shaking her head. “Clarke, are you actually ok, though? You and Bill lasted a while.”

“Yeah, I guess we did,” Clarke says slowly. She’s about to tell them she’s fine, repeat what she’s told them all along, that it was just casual, that she hadn’t gotten attached but the words suddenly stick in her throat. She hasn’t told anyone about this, hadn’t wanted to, but now that her best friends are asking all the exhaustion and loss and nauseating rejection sweeps over her. Tears burn suddenly in her eyes and she blinks down at the table. “Sorry,” she sniffs, when one rolls down her cheek. “Sorry.”

“Oh, babe,” Octavia says, reaching out to take Clarke’s hand on the table. 

“I’m ok,” Clarke whispers. “It just sucks. I liked him. I liked him a lot.” She sees Raven and Octavia exchange a glance, eyebrows raised. “Oh don’t. Please don’t,” Clarke says, tugging her hand away from Octavia to cover her face. “I know I got in over my head. I know I do this, I know.”

“Lincoln, do you mind giving us a minute?” Octavia asks and Lincoln gets up without a word, dropping a kiss into Clarke’s hair as he passes behind her chair. The bedroom door closes softly and Octavia scoots her chair around the corner of the table so that she and Raven are bracketing Clarke. “Clarke, I don’t think there’s any judgement coming from us,” she says gently. “What did I tell you? I think it’s good that you let yourself fall for Bill. I think we both just feel bad it didn’t work.”

“He didn’t feel the same way about you?” Raven asks, tucking a stray piece of Clarke’s hair behind her ear and Clarke nods. 

“No. He doesn’t. He only wanted something casual and I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“You were protecting yourself. That’s really smart, Clarke,” Octavia says, taking Clarke’s hand again. “It’s good that you ended things.”

“Yeah, you don’t want to be with someone who isn’t going to take the time to you know. Cause I guarantee you, Clarke, if he had gotten to know you, he would have wanted to be with you.”

“Lexa and… and Finn, they knew me and it didn’t work out,” Clarke says quietly.

“Clarke, no offense, you’re a fucking idiot. It didn’t work out because they wanted to be with you so much that they screwed up everything else, including me and you, to do it,” Raven protests and Octavia nods emphatically. “This guy doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

 _But that’s not true_ , the little voice in the back of Clarke’s head whispered. Bellamy did know her, knew her better than Finn and Lexa ever had and still pushed her away. She had opened up the shuttered and closed parts of her mind to him, let him see her fears and the darkest parts of her that she hadn’t ever shown to her previous partners and she had thought he had accepted them. But in the end… in the end something about her made him recoil. 

It’s not something she can bring herself to say though. To voice it would make it real, and so she nods with what Raven’s saying and smiles a bit shakily. “I know. Thanks, you guys.”

“You know what this means though,” Raven says leaning into her side and Clarke shakes her head. “It means we’re back to being wingwomen again, Clarke! The Dynamic Duo is back together again. I know you, dude. We’ll go to TonDC next weekend and tear it up.”

“Exactly,” Octavia says brightly. “You’ll meet someone really cute and have a crazy night of sex and you’ll be ok. You always are, Clarke.”

“You guys are right,” Clarke says and smiles at them. “Of course you’re right.”

**

Raven and Octavia practically batter down Clarke’s door on Friday night to get ready with her. Octavia sits Clarke in front of her on the couch and weaves complicated braids into her hair. Raven crouches in front of her and does Clarke’s eyeliner. Beyonce is blasting, there’s a mostly vodka screwdriver in her hand and Clarke finds she can smile about this. It will be good. She’ll meet someone random tonight, someone beautiful and real that will drive the ghost of Bellamy’s touch from her body.

And it is good. Mostly. She’s tipsy enough that the base of the music and the crush of people pushing past their table where she stands with Raven, Jasper, Maya, Monty and Octavia is exhilarating rather than overwhelming. She’d caught sight of Bellamy nursing a beer with Miller at the bar when they first arrived. He had met Clarke’s gaze for a moment before turning his head and then his back. Clarke drinks the beer Raven hands her and doesn’t think about Bellamy and the way his eyes used to seek her out here and his grin got feral. 

A tall, beautiful girl with only mildly tamed curls slides up to their table and reaches across Jasper to squeeze Raven’s shoulder. Raven turns from her story to see who it is and lights up. “Gina!” she laughs and captures Gina’s hand to do a complicated do-si-do around Jasper and Maya so that Gina ends up next to Clarke and Raven at their table.

“I had no idea you were going to be here tonight!” Raven says. “Gina, this is Clarke, Clarke: Gina.”

“Hey!” Gina says, leaning in to make herself heard over the EDM and smiling at Clarke. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Raven says you’re awesome, so you must be.”

“I’ve heard similar things about you!” Clarke half shouts back. Gina is gorgeous, curvy and bright and looks like she doesn’t take shit from anybody. Clarke likes her instantly. “How did you and Raven meet?”

“I’m an old friend of Wick’s from grad school before I decided that electrical engineering wasn’t for me. I own a bar now, but I get to bitch to Wick and Raven and give them a hard time about their start up.”

“Owning a bar sounds way more fun than Engineering, honestly,” Clarke says and Gina laughs, eyebrows raised.

“It is. Gives me an excuse to spray gross guys with water when they’re harassing my ladies. It’s the best.”

“Make sure you stay on her good side though,” Raven warns. “She doesn’t discriminate based on gender on who she’s hosing down.”

“It’s true, I’m an equal opportunity water spraying kind of girl.” Gina says with a straight face and Clarke laughs.

“As you should be. I’ll have to watch myself.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Any friend of Raven’s is already a friend of mine,” Gina assures her.

“Speaking of friends,” Raven says, craning her neck behind Gina, “are yours here tonight? You’re friends are awesome. Clarke, you would love them, they're totally your type, scary fierce, scary beautiful.”

“Actually,” Gina says, leaning in conspiratorially and Raven and Clarke lean in as well. “I texted Bellamy and he said he was here so…”

Something goes cold in Clarke’s chest.

“Yes, Queen!” Raven cheers enthusiastically. “Wait, so I know you guys hooked up on New Years but have you been hanging out?”

“Nah, not really,” Gina says. “We only made out on New Years anyway, he was too drunk for me to tempt fate. But I snagged his number, obviously. I needed to blow off some steam so I figured if he was up for it, might be fun to try a round two.” She winks at Clarke, who realizes her smile is frozen in place on her face.

“Good call. But, ok. How great is making out with Bellamy, though?” Raven laughs.

“Oh,” Gina says with a tilt of her head and a charming smile. “Girl. Bellamy’s an A+ kisser. I’m real excited to see what else he can do with his mouth.” Gina glances at the bar and shoots them a mischievous wink. “Speaking of which, excuse me ladies. Clarke, come by the bar sometime and I’ll hook you up with a drink. Don’t be a stranger.”

“Get it girl!” Raven calls after her as Gina weaves her way through the crowd. Clarke watches as she sidles up to Bellamy and rests a hand on his shoulder, familiar. Bellamy half turns to look at her and then smiles, shifting so that she’s included with him and Miller.

“I want to dance,” Clarke says, just a bit desperately to Raven, tugging on her sleeve. “Dance with me.”

“One more shot first,” Raven says, handing the little glass to Clarke from Monroe who’s just come back from her run to the bar. The burn of flavored vodka is numbing, is good, as Clarke turns her back on the sight of Bellamy and Gina and drags a laughing Raven out onto the crowded dance floor. 

It’s hazy with perspiration and the flashing lights both illuminate too much and not enough by turns. Clarke doesn’t bother to look at the faces around her, just links her fingers with Raven’s and they dance for a while, following the heavy beat of the music. A tall, built guy with long hair pulled into a half pony watches them for a bit and then approaches Raven, ducking his head to say something in her ear. Raven glances at him appraisingly and then to Clarke with a raised eyebrow and Clarke gives her a subtle nod. Raven grins and squeezes her fingers before she lets her go and turns to dance with her new friend.

Clarke dances by herself, eyes closed, back toward the bar so she’s not tempted to look. She gets lost in the music and the alcohol soaked press of bodies around her until there are hands on her hips. Clarke opens her eyes on a slender, tall girl studying her face with large eyes. She smiles at Clarke and leans in. “You’re beautiful,” she tells Clarke with a slow smile. She’s got high cheekbones and a fancy braid that’s coming undone so that hair falls into her face. Clarke smiles back at her and loops an arm over her shoulders to draw her close. She’s delicate under Clarke’s hands, thin boned and graceful and Clarke hates that she misses, for an instant, thick, muscular shoulder because this girl is beautiful too.

“Let me buy you a drink?” the tall girl asks as she sways with Clarke to the music, but Bellamy’s at the bar and when Clarke glances back towards it, he and Gina are wearing matching skeptical expressions before Gina tosses her head back and laughs even as she tugs playfully on the sleeve of his flannel. 

“No,” she says, grabbing the hand the girl has her waist and drawing it up to rest right below her tits. The girl raises an eyebrow but Clarke leans in and kisses her, a little desperate and sloppy, relieved when she kisses back. Clarke tugs her closer and loops an arm around her lower back to keep her close. She’s good, she’s got soft lips and a slick, fast tongue that teases Clarke’s lower lip and yeah. She wants this girl. Clarke follows the tease of the girl’s tongue into her mouth and gives her a soft moan for the vibration of it against her lips. 

The girl laughs and pulls back, thumb ghosting along the underside of Clarke’s breast. “You taste like raspberry vodka. I’m Niylah.”

“Clarke,” she replied before she kisses her again. She likes Niylah’s hands on her, it feels so good for someone to touch her after going startlingly without for a near month. The thought of sex sparks something dark and excited in Clarke’s brain and she pulls back enough to say, “We should get out of here.” It’s a goddamn cliche but it works as Niylah’s eyes drop to her mouth and she smiles. 

“Sure,” she says. Clarke grins for her, showing her teeth and then pulls her back in so she can bite her lip sharply. Niylah sighs at that. 

They leave after Clarke finds Raven pressing her guy into the wall to kiss him and shouts at her to be safe. She tries not to look, but when she does, neither Bellamy or Gina are at the bar anymore.

Niylah lives in a shared community house, her room on the top floor with slanted ceilings and dried herbs hanging from the rafters above her bed. She pushes Clarke to lie back on her bed and Clarke goes down willingingly, tugging Niylah after her to kiss her. Niylah is light on top of her and Clarke suddenly wants to make this girl fall apart. She rolls her weight so she’s braced above Niylah and fits her hands into her hair to kiss her properly. Niylah’s hair is silky beneath Clarke’s fingers and she scrunches her fingers through it lightly before she slides them down her neck to feel her up. Niylah’s not wearing a bra under her shirt and Clarke sighs into her mouth when she feels her tits through the thin layer of her shirt. Niylah’s so _soft_.

Clarke kisses down her neck as she rucks up Niylah’s shirt and gets her hands on her. Her tits are small and high and gorgeous. Clarke kisses them hello, one and then the other, and when the memory of how Bellamy used to do exactly that to her arises, she forces it down roughly, closing her eyes as she laves her tongue over one of Niylah’s nipples. She’s not going to think about Bellamy. She’s not. Niylah settles her hand in Clarke’s hair and tangles her fingers there, doesn’t pull. Clarke sighs into her skin and looks up at her. She’s forgotten how good girls feel, different from the broad shoulders and tapered torso she’s gotten used to. Niylah is slim and soft and inviting, makes Clarke want to be good to her, wants to get her off. 

She drags her mouth down Niylah’s slim stomach wetly and licks at her sharp hipbones as she pulls Niylah’s leggings off her hips. Niylah props herself up on her elbows as Clarke settles between her legs and smiles at her. “You’re so pretty,” she says sweetly and Clarke smiles back and butts her nose against Niylah’s pubic bone. 

“You’re so gorgeous,” Clarke murmurs. “Can’t wait to taste you.” Niylah smiles lightly in response. 

When Clarke licks into her, Niylah lets herself flop back on the comforter and gives a soft sigh. Clarke sucks lightly on her labia, gives her long, flat licks until all she can taste is Niylah’s cunt coating her tongue, her clit a hard nub she closes her lips over. She teases Niylah with soft kitten licks until she’s making pretty little gasps and sighs and Clarke doubles down, sucking hard in a way that makes Niylah arch under her. When she glances up at Niylah she’s got her hands clinging to the pillow above her head. It’s a hot fucking sight and Clarke whines into her. She teases Niylah with a finger, sliding it in and curling it up, seeking, until her finds the little bump of tissue inside her. She taps at it once, twice and Niylah comes with a soft sigh. Clarke gives her one last quick lick before she slides back up the bed to kiss her as she comes down. 

Niylah catches her breath against Clarke’s lips and then rolls her so she’s looming over her and grins at her, teeth sharp. “My turn,” she says, pressing another kiss to Clarke’s lips and then kissing down her neck and starting to work on getting Clarke’s shirt off. Clarke arches up under her, seeking skin contact. Her heart is racing, brain going too fast, Niylah’s eyes, Niylah’s mouth, Niylah’s fingers, Bellamy’s smile- No. No that wasn’t right. Clarke’s forehead creases and she gasps as Niylah kisses the soft skin at the crease of her thigh. She opens her eyes to look up at the shadowed rafters of Niylah’s ceiling. Niylah’s tongue teases hot over her folds and when Clarke reaches down to touch Niylah’s hair, it feels weird under her fingers, alien in its wispiness. Clarke props herself up so she can watch Niylah, focus on how gorgeous she looks when she’s got her face pressed into her cunt. Niylah’s good at this, really good, she figures out quickly the right way to lick at Clarke, the right way to suck hotly on her clit that makes Clarke’s eyes roll back into her head, white out any distractions. Clarke comes quietly, shuddering under Niylah’s tongue. She startles when Niylah touches her shoulder, not expecting her hand there, expecting it instead low on her stomach. The jolt of disparity makes Clarke roll toward Niylah, frantic, hands landing hungrily on her hips. She needs to know this body, needs to learn it.

She kisses Niylah’s shoulder and starts to slide go down her body. She wants to get her off again, her body buzzing with it, but Niylah stops her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I think I’m good,” she says with a smile and sits up to pull on a robe that’s draped on the headboard of her bed. 

“Are you sure?” Clarke asks, chasing her back up to kiss her, suck her bottom lip into her mouth. “I bet I can get you off again.”

“I’m sure,” Niylah laughs and shoves lightly at Clarke’s shoulder, pushing her off of her. Clarke lets her go, body still wired with frenetic energy, trembling through her fingers and Clarke tucks them under her arms so that they don’t shake visibly. Niylah smiles at her and cups Clarke’s face to give her a gentle kiss. “This was fun though.”

“Yeah,” Clarke says. “Glad I met you.” Niylah smiles and doesn’t say anything more and Clarke takes it as her cue to sit up and find her clothes that she’s tossed across Niylah’s room. She feels off, startled by how thrown off she feels, how something wrong curls in her stomach. Even though the room spins a bit around her, Clarke wishes she had let Niylah buy her that drink first. There’s something rising up her spine, something yawning in her chest that threatens to drag her down, overwhelm her. She pulls on her bra and tights, hitches her skirt up her legs and fights the complicated tie of her shirt to make it look presentable.

“Hey, are you ok?” Niylah asks, steadying her as Clarke stumbles against her dresser.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good,” Clarke promises and leans up to kiss her one last time. Niylah walks her out and Clarke gives her a little wave as she heads towards the metro. It’s late enough that she should take an uber, but she can’t be still. She has to keep moving, keep that traitorous, terrible feeling at bay. 

As the energy and endorphins slowly fade from her system, Clarke feels the emptiness in her chest grow, deep despair licking along her bones. Sex has always helped. After Finn, after Lexa, sex always made her feel good, always helped her move on, refocus her brain on new people, see all the possibilities. She wonders, as she waits for her train, if she weren’t so tired, she would realize that it had. She doesn’t think so. Somewhere in this city, Bellamy is with Gina, whispering hot promises into her skin, kissing her, fucking her. The thought is enough to make Clarke feel sick.

No. It hadn’t helped at all.

**

Clarke is sick of feeling awful. She’s sick of Bellamy’s sullen silence, his avoidance of her eyes, the shoulder turned away from her when she enters a room. She hates feeling dirty for how she feels about him… felt about him? She can’t tell. When she thinks of Bellamy now, those sunlit afternoons and the kisses he pressed to her neck feel foreign. 

Perhaps it’s the isolation of it all. Perhaps it’s Bellamy’s proximity. She cannot take the space she needs from him without isolating herself from her friends, and yet even when Bellamy’s not around, she can’t tell them the whole truth. It’s become shameful, making anxiety slink slow and heavy down her arms, weigh in her stomach like a stone. It tinges her memories of Bellamy a sickly burnt brown. Instead of his smile, she sees his grimace.

She can’t keep feeling like shit. Can’t keep walking into a room and knowing that Bellamy’s jaw clenches. She can’t keep wondering if it would be better if she just left for the night. But being home alone is just as bad as being around Bellamy. Her dining room table looks empty, her coffee maker doesn’t make the same sputtering noises it did when he used it. She can’t even escape into her own head through sketching. She’d misplaced her sketchpad in the frantic cleaning of her apartment, but even if she did have it, she doesn’t know what she would draw: when she picks up a pencil to doodle on napkins, nothing comes to her fingers. Home isn’t safe.

It’s been a month.

When she sees Bellamy, something visceral and reactive curls in her stomach. It crawls under her skin, seething right below the surface. Every time he ignores her, it grows hotter. 

_Speak to me,_ she thinks when they’re at Monroe’s movie night and Bellamy talks across her to Octavia and Monroe when they pipe up but steadfastly ignores her comments. _Please speak to me_. He doesn’t.

 _Look at me_ , she thinks as she glares across the room at him after he quickly ends his conversation with Raven because she drew Clarke into it. _Goddamnit, look at me._ He doesn’t. 

_Fuck it_ , she thinks when he leaves a room she walks into at Miller’s party, and that nasty, curling thing in her stomach bubbles up and she can’t take it anymore. She’s not going to take his shit. She’s not going to be treated like she has the plague. Fuck Bellamy. 

She never should have kissed Bellamy Blake, those months ago in Octavia’s tiny kitchen. Or if she had to have kissed him, she never should have gone home with him. And if she had to have gone with home with him, she never should have done it again… she never should have invited him to study with her, never should have eaten with him, laughed with him, touched his hair, drawn his skin, kissed his smile, shared her fears and insecurities with him, listened to him in return. Should never have fallen in love with him. Should never have had her heart broken by him. There are lists of things Clarke never should have done, but Bellamy Blake sits right at the top, bolded and underlined. 

Her heartache turns to rancor. Bellamy can try to hedge her out from her friends all he likes, but she won’t let him. She won’t be driven away.

**

“This guy,” Raven tells Clarke as she laughs into her homemade margarita, “Roan, he’s so fucking hot, Clarke. His eight pack has an eight pack. I feel like I’m going to have a nosebleed everytime he takes off his damn shirt.”

Miller looks at her skeptically. “No one is actually that ripped in real life,” he tells her and over his shoulder Monty rolls his eyes at Clarke.

“I like your six pack,” Monty teases Miller, “you don’t need to feel inadequate.” Miller laughs, surprised and looking a little pleased as he slings an arm around Monty’s neck in a pseudo headlock.

“You’re telling me you don’t want me to get super jacked up like Raven’s guy?” Miller asks him, close and intimate. Monty looks him in the eyes and shakes his head.

“Nah, I like that you’re still soft in some places, too much muscle and I couldn’t use you as a pillow.”

Miller’s expression softens around his eyes and he kisses Monty’s temple before letting him go. 

“Get a room you two,” Raven drawls. “But not mine, please. I just finished washing the sheets.”

“TMI, Reyes,” Murphy says as he joins them in the livingroom. The racket of the blender kicks up again from the kitchen. Frozen Margarita night is a little untraditional at the end of January, but with the city stopping blizzard on it’s way and most of their jobs preemptively closed the following morning, it seemed fitting. 

“Oh fuck you, Murphy, you’re just jealous I’m having a crazy amount of sex and you’re not.”

“Who says I’m not?” Murphy asks flippantly and Raven snorts. 

“With who?”

“A chick named Emori. You wouldn’t know her, she’s a badass.”

“She must be crazy if she’s hooking up with you.”

“She is, but that just makes it more interesting,” Murphy promises with a lazy smile and Raven rolls her eyes. In the kitchen the blender shuts off and there’s a clink of glasses and Octavia’s laugh before she and Bellamy join them. Octavia squeezes into the armchair with Lincoln while Bellamy sits on the floor with Miller and Monty, actively avoiding her eyes as usual and something in Clarke just snaps. She’s had enough of it.

“Anyway,” Raven says, rolling her eyes at Murphy, “Clarke, this guy is amazing and I’ll definitely send you a sneaky pic next time we hook up because I can’t be the only one to appreciate it.”

“I’m starting to think you only like him for his body,” Lincoln teases Raven and she shrugs.

“Well, it’s what I’m primarily there for right now. He does have a nice face though. Oh, and he cooked me breakfast. There’s something so sexy about a guy that can cook.”

Clarke doesn’t know where it comes from, but suddenly she hears herself speaking, a nasty edge right below her words even as she keeps her tone light.

“I think that’s setting the bar pretty low, honestly. I mean, once you’re over 25 shouldn’t you be able to make a decent meal? It’s kind of pathetic if all you’ve got in your bank is like spaghetti or something.” Clarke feels a triumphant, bitter surging in her chest when she glances at Bellamy and he’s staring at her, shock clear on his face and she thinks viciously, _Oh so you can hear me.Good._ As she meets his gaze, his eyes cloud over and his shock is replaced by a deep, bitter expression, anger bright on his face. 

“Huh,” Bellamy says quietly. “I guess if you care about petty things like making a perfect meal to impress someone, sure. I always thought it was pretty entitled to judge people by their hobbies or skills. Shows a lot of unchecked privilege.”

“Oh really,” Clarke says quietly. 

Bellamy shrugs and doesn’t look at her when he replies. “Sure, but I suppose when you grow up with everything being handed to you on a silver platter, you don’t tend to question those things.”

Clarke feels the blood drain from her face and then come rushing back a moment later and she bites her tongue because people are looking at them and as much as her anger is bubbling right under the surface, she’s not doing this here. 

“I don’t know if that’s fair, Bell,” Octavia jumps in. “I mean, look at Clarke!”

“I am,” Bellamy says, too quietly for Octavia to hear but it makes Clarke’s heart feel leaden in her chest. 

The conversation shifts and twists. When she glances at Bellamy she finds him staring at her hard. She raises an eyebrow, cold and his eyes narrow minutely and he looks away. There’s a set to his jaw she hasn’t seen before. It makes him look mean, dangerous and Clarke’s heart pounds painfully in her chest. All the longing for him that’s turned bitter rolls inside her and she realizes with a terrible, fierce joy she wants to hurt Bellamy. She wants to get back at him for making her feel so goddamn awful for the past month. 

Octavia is talking about how much she loves her job and how she might just trek through the storm tomorrow if Indra’s going to be there and Clarke nods enthusiastically. “It’s so great that you love what you do, Octavia. You’re so driven. I always feel bad for people who aren’t motivated to do the hard work to figure out what they want to do with their lives and just fill the time with something easy.” Bellamy’s body visibly tenses and Clarke smiles brightly at Octavia who nods slowly.

“Yeah, well, I guess lobbying matched up with my desire to fight the man and save the world, so you know, it wasn’t that hard a choice.”

Bellamy is staring hard at his drink when Clarke looks at him, his jaw furiously tight and brows knit. _Good_.

The conversation shifts to the oncoming storm and how they’re going to spend their days off. Monty and Miller exchange a smug look between them and Lincoln’s thumb is brushing lightly along Octavia’s thigh. Murphy considers them all dubiously and says, “You’re all going to be having sex, aren’t you?”

Monty sputters on his beer, Lincoln raises an eyebrow but doesn’t disagree. “What else would we be doing?”

“Nothing, I just thought I’d call you all out on it,” Murphy says smugly. 

“Sex is weird, isn’t it?” Raven asks, her head lulling on Clarke’s shoulder. She’d had a margarita before they all arrived and a drunk Raven is a rambling Raven. “Like, it’s fun but then everyone likes certain things or doesn’t like certain things. Like, I hate when people want to lick my ears during sex, you know? Everyone’s got something like that.”

“I don’t like my feet touched,” Miller offers. “That’s a serious turn off.”

“The taste of latex,” Lincoln offers and Raven rolls her eyes at Clarke. Trust Lincoln to come up with something practical and not actually about the mechanics of sex.

“Oh man, when people are super serious when they have sex,” Octavia adds. “Like, it’s all about intense emotional eye contact or some shit. Where’s the fun in that?” Lincoln chuckles and tucks his nose into Octavia’s shoulder.

“Fair point,” Raven allows. “What about you, Big Blake?”

Bellamy looks up slowly, his eyes sliding from Raven to consider Clarke for a long moment. There’s malice in his eyes, a darkness Clarke doesn’t recognize and she fights to hold his gaze. She’s done being cowed by him. Bellamy’s eyes leave hers and he leans back on his hands as he tells Raven, “Honestly, I’ve never understand why people think O-faces are hot. I’ve never seen one that I was into, you know? I think they make people look ridiculous.”

Clarke was expecting it but her stomach still drops and she clenches her hand tight around the delicate stem of her cheesy plastic margarita cup. Her heart thuds loudly in her ears and she refuses to think about all the times she’s come with Bellamy’s eyes on her face. Raven scoffs. “Way to be a dick, Bellamy.”

“Hey, it’s not like I tell girls to their faces. I usually give them some shit about how hot they look. That plays better than laughing at them.” 

There’s a din in Clarke’s head, as if every time Bellamy has ever told her how beautiful or gorgeous she looked as she came repeated themselves back to her, shouting all at once in a deafening cacophony of dissent and leaving her with an odd ringing in her ears as they fall silent. 

Octavia rolls her eyes. “Bellamy you are seriously the worst.”

Bellamy shrugs and picks something off the sleeve of his sweater. “I answered the question,” is all he says.

“I hate when people use the word ‘manhood’,” Monty jumps in and Miller grimaces next to him, nodding.

“Yeah, that’s weird,” Octavia agrees.

“What about you, Clarke?” Lincoln asks.

“When people who talk big shit in bed can’t deliver,” Clarke says softly. She can feel Bellamy’s eyes snap to her face but she refuses to look at him. She looks instead at Raven and Octavia. “That guy Bill I was seeing? Talked up his game, but I ended up faking most of the time just to get it over with.”

“Oh, wow, drag him, Clarke,” Raven cackles and Octavia makes a face.

“Well, poor Bill. May he one day learn what it is to please a woman,” Octavia raises her glass solemnly in a toast.

“You guys haven’t asked me what I don’t like yet,” Murphy says lazily and when everyone looks at him expectantly, he says, “Body hair.”

Everyone yells at Murphy but Clarke, who finally looks at Bellamy. There’s a raw, wild expression in his eyes which he closes them on when she looks at him. She sees him take a breath and school his features and when he opens them again, there’s only a disdainful, dismissive look that he levels her and then looks away blandly, knuckling a finger into his jaw.

Clarke feels a rush of spiteful joy, feels like she’s won. _Yeah,_ she thinks righteously, _fuck you._

The ringing in her ears grows louder through the rest of the evening. It gives her a headache even as she laughs with Octavia and Raven and argues with Murphy about the best stoner media (“Broad City, obviously,” Clarke scoffs and Murphy shakes his head, “The Kroll show, man.”). As the party winds down and Clarke is pulling on her heavy snow coat, Bellamy pushes past her out the door without a word and the ringing reverberates through her head and echoes through her body like a bad headache. It settles in her chest on her way home, bitter and dark, a seething anger Clarke feels with each heartbeat. 

There are hot tears in her eyes as she washes off her makeup and her body shivers with her fury, her feet itching with it. She takes a melatonin to sleep after an hour of lying in bed and glaring at the ceiling, each heart beat intertwining her words with Bellamy's, both bitter, both angry, both done with the stifling silence between them. When she dreams, it’s of Bellamy’s eyes, cold and dark, his mouth sneering as he says _you’re so sexy when you fall apart, Clarke_ and in the next breath, a smile on his mouth and softness in his eyes, _you look ridiculous_.

**

Clarke had taped Octavia and Lincoln’s housewarming invitation to her fridge and programed it into her phone, but she’s still surprised when it’s February 18th and she realizes the party is the next day.

February feels like it’s only just started, but then again, Clarke can’t say she’s been the most aware of time passing. The days at the clinic run together and she’s helping Lincoln put together a new show which has resulted in her booking caterers and getting the word out on social media and around the city in addition to helping him setting up the gallery. Seeing her friends is a battleground. 

After that night at Raven’s, the silence is broken between her and Bellamy. It’s become some sort of twisted game between them, seeing who can land the most verbal blows throughout the night. They knew each other too well in ways that mattered, and now, twisted by resentment and anger, that information has become weaponized. It’s never obvious, never enough that anyone else notices, though Octavia sometimes cocks her head oddly when Bellamy scoffs at something Clarke says, or Clarke makes a disbelieving noise when Bellamy contributes to the conversation. Occassionaly there’s an opening, a joke or anecdote a little too personal and Clarke will slide in a verbal knife into Bellamy’s ribs, or Bellamy will cudgel her over the head with a seemingly offhanded comment. Retaliation is usually swift and just as cruel, and after the first few times they’d hung out in a group and liberally gone after one another, they’ve retreated, gasping and licking their wounds, to their corners. They’ve both learned to watch for easier, safer openings to attack.

She arrives at Octavia’s early, bringing wine and cookies she had found time to make after her shift at the clinic. Their apartment is immaculate, Octavia and Lincoln clearly having committed to having the Grown Up Party, but Clarke spots all the alcohol they’ve stashed in the kitchen and she grins at Octavia as her friend pours her a large glass of wine. “You guys went all out, didn’t you?” Clarke teases her.

“Well, when you get a chance to throw a fancy party, you throw a fancy party. You know that, Clarke.”

“I know, I taught you well,” Clarke laughs. Octavia rolls her eyes and hands Clarke the salad bowl and fixings to take care of while she finishes the lasagna. Lincoln is laying the table in the dining room with the fancy set of silverware and they’ve put on some jazzy, ‘twenties style music that reminds Clarke of all the weekends she spent with Octavia in their cramped apartment their senior year of college, pretending to do their homework and instead finding all the things they possibly could to distract themselves. 

Octavia leaves Clarke to chat with Lincoln while she goes to change and reemerges in a short black dress, dark, smokey make up and a single gold chain hanging around her neck. Lincoln fumbles the dish he’s washing and Clarke shakes her head when Octavia spins for them. “Yes?” She asks.

“Are you sure you wanted a party?” Clarke asks her dryly, “I think you and Lincoln might be set for the night.”

“Shut up, Clarke,” Lincoln laughs but still tugs Octavia in so he can kiss her, ending up with lipstick on his face and goofy grin. Octavia thumbs it from his lip with a small smile and winks at Clarke. 

There’s the soft sound of the door opening and Bellamy calls, “O? Lincoln?”

“In the kitchen,” Octavia calls back and Lincoln reaches into the cabinet to get two more glasses down. Bellamy appears around the doorframe and laughs when Octavia launches herself to hug him. He gives her a playful spin, and puts her carefully back on her feet, mindful of her heels. He gives Clarke a curt nod because it’s expected and is reaching out to give Lincoln a hearty thump on the back when Gina, dark and curly hair pinned up impeccably, appears in the threshold behind him. 

That her heart thumps painfully in her chest almost isn’t a surprise anymore, but it’s she still hears her own soft, shocked intake of breath. Clarke schools her expression grimly and musters a smile even as Bellamy opens his arm for Gina to join him. “Octavia, this is Gina. Gina, this is my sister.”

“I’m so glad to meet you,” Octavia says, reaching for both of Gina’s hands and giving her a quick peck on the cheek. “And glad you could make it, the seating chart was going to be a mess otherwise.”

“Always happy to help,” Gina says with a smile. She shakes hands with Lincoln and then sees Clarke in the corner of the kitchen and smiles brightly at her. “Hey, Clarke!”

Clarke watches Bellamy’s eyes flicker but nothing else change on her face as she gives Gina a hug hello. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” Clarke says, passing her the glass of wine from Lincoln.

“Well, it was a last minute sort of thing,” Gina laughs, rolling her eyes. “Bellamy only told me this was happening yesterday, master of communication that he is. But I’m glad I could join. I haven’t seen Raven in a hot second and I’ve been waiting to get the dirt on Bellamy from his friends.”

“I’m sure you’ll find unlooked for depths in Octavia,” Bellamy says lightly, leaning back against the counter. “Clarke, on the other hand…” Bellamy trails off and Gina sends him a playful look.

“Now I feel like you don’t want me to ask Clarke about you,” she teases Bellamy. “Tell me,” she says leaning close to Clarke with an inviting smile, “you must have all sorts of secrets about Bellamy.”

“Enough blackmail for centuries,” Clarke laughs but the look Bellamy shoots her is warning, dangerous and Clarke reconsiders. “But I had no idea you two were dating,” Clarke continues after a moment.

“Are we dating, Bell?” Gina asks, slanting her eyes coyly at Bellamy. Bellamy shrugs and scrubs a hand through his hair. 

“I guess we’re figuring that out,” Gina says with a private smile at Bellamy and then smiles brightly again at Clarke. “But enough about Bellamy. You know all about him since you have to put up with him all the time. Remind me what you do for work?”

Clarke ends up perched on the couch with Gina and Octavia while Bellamy sits looking bored on the ottoman. Clarke likes Gina. She’s witty with a sharp dry sense of humor about her and the soft little voice in the back of Clarke’s head, one that Clarke has stepped on and tried to drown out over the last month and a half, whispers that she’s good for Bellamy. The way she glances at him, smiles at him, draws him into the conversation nearly effortlessly… Clarke can see why Bellamy likes her. 

Miller, Monty, Jasper and Maya all arrive together, Jasper and Monty wearing matching bowties and somehow Miller and Maya have managed to color coordinate with each other. “It was absolutely unplanned,” Jasper insists, slipping his arm around Maya’s waist and making a face at her which she matches. 

“Good job you guys,” Raven says dryly, having arrived just after them. Monroe and Murphy arrive, having gone over the top in their fancy clothes and wearing a matching corsage and boutonniere set. 

“Were you planning on going to prom?” Clarke asks, and Murphy shrugs, looking proud of himself.

“Hey, you don’t know where we could end up tonight.”

“Really hoping it’s not at some poorly timed after prom party,” Gina says lazily and they eye each other until Bellamy growls at Murphy to ‘show some goddamn respect’.

The timer goes for the lasagna and Octavia herds them to the table. She’s arranged them down the table, not allowing any of the couples or “couples” in the case of Raven and Clarke, Monroe and Murphy, to sit next to each other. Somehow, when Clarke isn’t paying close enough attention to intervene, she’s placed next to Bellamy and they look at each other for a long moment before pulling out their chairs and sitting down very carefully next to each other. 

Clarke hasn’t been this close to Bellamy since Dropship when he shrugged away from her touch and the sudden, unexpected proximity is like a fresh cut over a wound that has slowly begun to heal. From a distance she has been able to build up the defenses she’s needed to be in the same room as him. But when she’s this close, she can smell the soft scent of Bellamy’s cologne, still just pine-infused and comforting as it used to be in her bed. She can see the sweep of his eyelashes as he looks down determinedly at the table, the way his lips press together, the pattern of freckles she had begun to memorize. It’s acutely painful and Clarke has to look away, her heart fluttering weakly in her chest. She wasn’t ready for this. Shit, she wasn’t ready for this. 

She and Bellamy are both markedly quiet during the meal. They’re sitting across from Monty and Monroe and Lincoln, at the foot of the table, but when asked questions, Clarke finds she loses her train of thought half way through and ends up just staring at her hand as she pushes food around her plate. Her mouth feels dry no matter how much wine she drinks and she’s hyper aware of how Bellamy’s body is a still, braced line next to her, muscles wound tight as he sits uncharacteristically straight. She glances at him, just once, when Octavia and Lincoln are clearing the table and she finds Bellamy’s looking at her from under his curls. She can’t read his expression and he immediately flicks his eyes away from her.

When had she stopped being able to read his expression? The question falls like a drip down a long well and stirs still water deep inside her. It ripples through her as she stares at the table cloth that’s stitched with delicate blue and gold swirls, and the ripples disturb something deeper. It rises slowly within her, until now still unknown, until now still unnamed, tugging wrenchingly on her gut. She can’t read his eyes anymore, she doesn’t recognize the thoughts in them other than dislike. It shouldn’t shock her, but it does. It hurts with an aching intensity she thought she had moved past and that alone rattles her. She feels fragile and delicate and can only manage a small bite of the cream cake that Octavia’s spent the afternoon making. 

_Why?_ She thinks desperately. Why should it matter that she can’t read his expression? It was the natural progression of things… you stopped hanging out with someone, you got distance, in the end you didn’t know them all that well. That was life. _But_ , Clarke protests quietly, _that was never supposed to be what happened_. It catches her by surprise, that some small part of her still believed that things were going to be ok with Bellamy. And they weren’t, she realizes. They weren’t going to be ok. She doesn’t know the man sitting next to her anymore, not after two months of silence and hurt and anger. 

She moves in a trance from the table when they relocate back to the living room. Octavia tops off their glasses and teams them up for charades. Bellamy sits in the corner of Lincoln’s couch and Gina fits in next to him, comfortably leaning into his side. One of Bellamy’s arms goes around her back and when Clarke looks at them, Bellamy’s absently curling his finger in a piece of hair that’s escaped Gina’s neat pins.

“You’re up, Clarke,” Miller says, nudging her knee. Clarke stands, reaches into the bowl and pulls out the first clue. She doesn’t even manage to mime one right clue in the three minutes she’s given, and Raven teases her mercilessly when she sits back down, a little shell shocked. She already can’t remember what the clue said.

“Man, Griffin, I had high hopes for you and you totally blew it,” Raven laughs, giving her shoulder a rough shake. 

“Well,” Bellamy says slowly, “Clarke’s pretty good about dashing expectations.” And that hurts. It hits her right where she’s the most vulnerable about her family and her relationships and already rubbed raw by this evening she blinks at Bellamy in helpless shock. He returns her look, cocky and mean, then turns his head and tucks his nose into Gina’s shoulder, resting his mouth against the skin of her arm. Gina, distracted by Monroe miming furiously away, tilts her head so that her temple is leaning against Bellamy’s forehead. 

And that’s where they sat, Clarke realizes with another punch to the gut. She and Bellamy sat right there at Thanksgiving, heads pressed together and grinned together into the camera and they were so happy. Bellamy had hugged her that night, and she had pressed her nose into his neck and it had been right. They had been right. 

And she’s lost all of it. 

Clarke counts to fifty very slowly in her head and when Miller is up for her team and Maya is gasping from laughter as he frowns harder and flaps his hands more enthusiastically, Clarke carefully stands up and goes to the kitchen. A cold glass of tapwater pressed to her forehead does little to calm her stomach. Her throat is nearly swollen closed and Clarke tries to remember how to breath properly. Fuck. She takes a gulp of the water and leans over the sink, willing herself not to be sick. 

“Clarke?” Octavia asks, stumbling into the kitchen, “could you pass me that- hey. Hey, Clarke, are you ok?” Octavia’s hands are soft and gentle on her shoulders and she hovers next to her, pushing her hair out of her face to get a better look at her. “Clarke what’s wrong?”

“No, I’m ok, I’m just-” Clarke starts and realizes she can’t finish that sentence, can’t even force a smile. She’s not ok and she knows that there’s no way she’s hiding this from Octavia. “You know, I’m not feeling very well, Octavia. A headache.”

“You look so pale,” Octavia says, turning Clarke to face her fully. She presses the back of her fingers gently to Clarke’s head and frowns. “You’re burning up. Do you want some aspirin? Or.. you know, Lincoln has some great weed that I smoke when I feel shitty, you could have some of that?”

“No, thanks, but I think I might just call it a night,” Clarke says. “Sorry, I just… this has been really great, but I think I need to go home and crash.” 

“Ok, eat some ice cream, watch some netflix and pass out. Guaranteed to make you feel better,” Octavia prescribes lightly but she still stares into Clarke’s face, frowning. “Clarke,” she says carefully, “if there’s something going on…”

“I-” Clarke starts and she doesn’t know what to say. There is nothing to say. This isn’t something she can tell Octavia, can’t split her between her best friend and her brother. “I-”

“What’s this? The Princess isn’t feeling well?” Bellamy is leaning in the doorframe, arms crossed over his black dress shirt. His tone is light but his expression is mocking. Behind him, Murphy roars in laughter and someone, maybe Jasper, is cursing at him.

“Just a headache,” Octavia says lightly and smiles at him. “I’m sending her home to sleep it off.”

“A headache. Really.” Bellamy says, looking pointedly at Clarke. She drops her gaze.

“Octavia,” Clarke says, “this was great, thank you. And sorry for bailing.”

“Let me walk you out,” Octavia says gently. 

“That’s ok, you don’t-”

“I got this, O,” Bellamy cuts in. “You get back to entertaining. I’ll make sure Clarke gets a cab.”

Octavia smiles brightly at Bellamy but it falters when she sees Clarke’s stricken expression. “Clarke, is that-”

“Yeah, no, that’s fine. Octavia, go have fun.” Octavia has a stubborn streak and she looks like she’s about to belabor the point so Clarke pulls her into a tight hug. “It’s just a headache. Let’s get lunch this week, ok? With Raven. It’ll be fun.”

“Ok,” Octavia says drawing back and staring hard at Clarke’s face. “But you call me if you don’t feel better tomorrow, ok? Lincoln and I will come cook for you if it turns out to be Avian Flu.”

“I promise I will.” Clarke says, dredging up a smile for her joke. Octavia leaves them with the scent of her musky perfume and Clarke wonders if Bellamy can hear the rapid drum of her heart across the kitchen. She fights to meet his eyes, feels like an exposed nerve under his gaze when she does. 

“What are you doing, Clarke?” Bellamy asks, his voice soft but dark. He’s looking at her hard, eyebrows furrowed, mouth set in an unhappy line.

“Go back to the party,” Clarke says firmly and digs her coat out from under Raven’s on the kitchen chair. 

“Clarke.”

“Goodnight,” she says firmly. She pushes past Bellamy and nods at Octavia as she opens the door quietly to the stairwell. She makes it down half a landing before the door opens and shuts again and Bellamy follows her out. 

“Clarke,” he snaps and when she doesn’t stop, “Are you seriously doing this? Are you seriously running way?”

Clarke pauses and looks back up at him, he’s braced on the stairrail, glaring down at her and she can’t do this. “I’m just tired, Bellamy.”

“Bullshit,” Bellamy growls and starts down the stairs. “You’re running away again, aren’t you? That’s fucking typical,” he snarls. “Running the second it gets uncomfortable.”

And as broken as she has felt all evening, that makes it worse. Tears spring to her eyes and she stomps back up the stairs so they’re on the same little half landing because she’s never known how to back down from a fight. “Fuck you, Bellamy. What do you want me to say? Yes I’m going. You’ve spent every moment we’ve been together in the last two months trying to drive me away. You know what? You win tonight. I don’t care. Just… just…” She tries to swallows the panicked hysteria that’s threatening to make the tears over flow her eyes and leave her gasping for air. But she won’t let him do that to her. “Bellamy, please just let me go without mocking me, please.”

“You know,” Bellamy says, voice low and harsh, arms crossed once more over his chest. “I don’t get you. You’re a Grade-A fucking mystery Clarke. You’re the one who called things off, you act like everything’s fine and then once I start seeing someone new, someone who actually likes me, you throw a hissy fit and storm out of my sister’s party? Where the hell do you get off?” Bellamy’s jaw is twitching and his face is as dark as Clarke has ever seen it. 

“Yeah,” Clarke spits back at him, “I ended things, Bellamy, because when we started you were pretty clear about the way you wanted this to go. I told you, I-”

“No, I got it Clarke. You were pretty clear yourself that feelings had no place between us. But see, I don’t get how that entitles you to have a goddamn tantrum just because I’m trying to get over you.”

“I’m not…” Clarke stops as his words catch up to her and she blinks up at him, shocked. “What?”

“I don’t fucking understand you,” Bellamy continues, working himself up “You can’t have it both ways, Princess. You’re not that selfish, Clarke, at least I didn’t think you were.”

With the wine she’s had and the exhaustion that’s radiating from her core, Clarke can’t comprehend what he’s saying to her. She’s not functioning fast enough to catch it all, to get a word in. It’s not making sense. 

“Bellamy,” she grits out when he pauses for breath, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What-”

Bellamy laughs, a little wild, a lot mean. “Oh really. That’s what you’re playing? You want to pretend this is news? I’ll spell it out for you, Clarke, you ended things with me because of how I felt about you. You left me. I’m sorry if that doesn’t fit in with some bizarre narrative you have in your head about what went down, but I am fucking sick of playing this game with you. Hell, half the time, I don’t even know what game you’re trying to play.” He looms closer and Clarke steps back into the wall.

“Bellamy,” she says, trying to keep her voice as even as she can. “Bellamy, slow down, please. I ended things because I couldn’t take feeling about you the way I did and not…” she swallows. “Not having you feel the same.”

There’s a long moment of silence as Bellamy’s face does something funny and he shakes his head, taking a step back from her. He stares at her, face going from anger to shock to a slow horror rising behind his eyes and tight in his mouth. 

“The… the way you felt about me,” he repeats. “You didn’t… you didn’t get my… the note I wrote. You didn’t get that.” He stares at her in disbelief and when she shakes her head he sits suddenly on the stairs, face in his hands and elbows propped on his knees. “Jesus,” he whispers. 

“Bellamy, I never got a note,” Clarke says. She wants to touch him. She wants to end this conversation and go home and sleep until she doesn’t feel anything anymore. 

“But you’re… you’re always… how...?” Bellamy stops himself visibly and slowly lowers his hands, staring at the floor. “You know what? It doesn’t matter.” Bellamy says suddenly. “It doesn’t matter now, Clarke. Go on. I shouldn’t have followed you.” He’s still not looking at her, shoulders hunched and head bowed, and that’s almost worse than his taunting and his anger. 

“Are you,” she starts, “Bellamy… I don’t understand.”

He shakes his head, abortive and final and stands slowly like he’s much older than his twenty-eight years. 

“I said I would make sure you got a cab,” Bellamy says. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and pulls up uber. “I’ll call the driver and make sure they know they’re picking you up,” he says, voice exhausted.

“Bellamy-” Clarke tries again but he turns his back on her suddenly.

“Fuck, Clarke. Will you just leave it?” There’s a note of pleading in his voice and Clarke is too tired, too numb and overwhelmed to do anything more. 

“Ok,” she whispers. “Ok.”

She waits, watching until Bellamy climbs back up the stairs and the door to Lincoln and Octavia’s apartment shuts and then she turns slowly and walks down stairs. There’s a car waiting for her when she reaches the street and the driver waves his phone at her, a picture of Bellamy on his screen. Clarke gets in the back seat and closes her eyes. Nothing makes any sense. But she needs it to. 

_But you’re always..._ Bellamy had said. _Always wha_ t? Clarke thinks, frustrated, knocking her head back against the padded headrest. _Always what, Bellamy?_ She’s turned her apartment upside down in the last few months with her cleaning. Everything’s the same about her routine. Surely if Bellamy had left her a note she would have found it. She shakes her head, trying to clear it. What could she have possibly missed?

It comes to her slowly, like a dream, like a memory from another lifetime, faded and singed at the edges. Coming out of her bedroom in an overlarge sweater, Bellamy flipping through her sketchpad and putting it aside immediately when he saw her. That had been her last afternoon with him. Has she really not… no. She hasn’t sketched in it since.

Clarke’s heart beats wildly in her chest, like it’s going to burst through her ribs and skin and fall, still beating onto the floor as Clarke slowly climbs the stairs to her apartment. She unlocks the door and stands in the dark of her living room for a long moment, eyes closed, willing her heart to slow. It doesn’t.

Clarke spends ten minutes looking for her sketchpad. She pulls books from shelves, magazines falling open faced on the floor, side table cabinets thrown open and rearranged. She finds it in the end, on the highest bookshelf in her living room, tucked away with her Psych book and binder full of her notes. She stands in the mess of living room and carefully lets the sketch pad fall open in her hands. It opens on the second to last page that’s been filled, the little cartoon Bellamy had drawn of her. There, tucked carefully into the spine of the pad to stay in place is an envelope, and spelled out in Bellamy’s painstakingly neat letters: ‘Clarke’. 

She stares at it for a moment and then slowly sits, right in the middle of the floor, and closes the sketchpad. She has to fight against the sudden, violent urge to fling her sketchpad from her across the room and this little secret that it contains. This little, innocuous letter, unopened, overlooked and too late. 

What does it matter what’s written there? It’s two months old. Two months of bitter silence, cutting remarks, and an empty place in her life which had once felt so full. Two months of missing the man she had felt the safest around. Two months of missing his support, his good natured grumpiness, his comfortable presence in her apartment, his affection. Two months, she thinks, of him thinking she had read this letter. Two months of him thinking she had read this letter and because of it, ended things between them.

Before she can think better of it, Clarke flips her sketchpad back open and with shaking fingers and rips open the envelope. There’s a single sheet of paper, carefully folded and Clarke smooths it out on the cover of her sketchpad and tries to read through the tears that have already started to fall. 

_Clarke,_

_You’re going to laugh at me when you read this and I’m never going to hear the end of it. I am writing you a fucking letter instead of talking to you like a normal person, so I probably deserve it._

_I know what we said when we got into this, that feelings and dating weren’t what either of us wanted. I don’t think you know this about yourself, Clarke, but it is impossible to know you and hold true to that conviction. To be privileged with your company, your smile, your confidence, your touch, a million little other things that are just you_, _and not fall for you is an impossible task. And I’m done trying to deny that._

_You told me a while ago that the first step in figuring out my future was finding one small thing that I wanted. This is hardly small, but I want you, Clarke. I love you. I don’t want to risk losing you by never telling you how I feel. You inspire me in so many ways, not the least of which is to be brave, so I tell you this hoping you might be able to love me back and that the next time I see you I can say this in person. Given the chance, I would tell you I love you in all the ways I know how to, and all the ways I don’t yet know._

_Looking to you, Princess._

_-Bellamy_

Clarke refolds the letter the shaking fingers and barely manages to suppress the sobs that are shaking her body. It hurts. It hurts so much more worse than it ever has before to know that she had Bellamy, that they loved each other and now he can barely look at her. God, two months. 

She doesn’t know how long she cries for, Bellamy’s letter clutched in her fingers. She cries until her mind is quiet and she’s out of tears, eyes puffy and nose raw. She cries until all the bitterness and anger have been purged from her and what’s left is the reopened cavern of heartache and loss that she has tried to fight against for the last eight weeks. 

How must Bellamy feel? This gentle, unimposing declaration of love had stemmed from a sweet, unguarded ground in Bellamy that she had blindly trampled through in her misguided attempts to save him from herself. She looks down at the crumpled letter in her hands. 

Bellamy had called her brave, here, that she inspired him to brave. She didn’t think she was particularly, but Bellamy had been and had learned that he only got rejection for it. She had to make things right. He had to know the truth. There was no bridging the gap between them, there was too much hurt on both sides, too much calcified belief in a single side of the story. But he deserved to know that she had loved him too. That his love was not what made her push him away. And maybe if she could make things right they could build a tentative friendship, a true one, out of this wreckage of an emotional wasteland.

She’s on her feet before she’s even aware of trying to stand up. She couldn’t leave this until morning, when the sunlight robbed her of her borrowed courage. She had to go now, damn the late hour and whatever Bellamy might think to see her on his doorstep. As she waits for an uber, she clutches his letter to her chest, draws her strength and conviction from it: this ghost of a message, it’s bravery most likely a bitter memory to Bellamy.

She gets to Bellamy’s apartment in twenty minutes. There’s a faint light on in his window and suddenly Clarke wonders if Bellamy’s brought Gina home with him. The thought makes her knees weak but she steels herself. It doesn’t matter. She needs to do this now. 

She rings his doorbell three times before his voice crackles through the speaker, “What?”

“Bellamy,” she says, “Bellamy I need to talk to you.” 

The silence that follows is painfully reminiscent of the silence on his end of the phone when she called him two months ago. It makes her breath catch in her throat but she manages to find her voice. “Please.”

He doesn’t reply but the buzzer on the door goes and Clarke pushes through. She hurries up the stairs and Bellamy’s waiting for her on the third floor landing. He’s wearing flannel sleep pants and a grey undershirt, arms crossed defensively over his chest as he leans against the banister. Clarke stops a few stairs below him and looks up at him, heart in her throat. She suddenly can’t think of anything to say, so she extends her hand, note still clutched tight in her fingers, and holds it outstretched like an offering.

“I got your letter.”

Bellamy’s face crumples and he looks away from her, arms coming undone, one going to the back of his head and the other gripping the railing. He turns his face away from her and Clarke can’t bear it.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke chokes out. “Bellamy, I didn’t know. I swear, I didn’t know.” She feels the tears come back even as she fights against them and Bellamy’s expression is pained. 

“You should come inside,” he says. His hands are hovering like he wants to touch her, but he waits until she’s climbed the last few the stairs and simply walks down the hall with her, hands at his sides.

“I didn’t know,” Clarke says again as Bellamy closes the door behind them and stands looking at her helplessly. “You thought I knew. You thought I didn’t care.”

“I’ll get you some water,” Bellamy says gruffly. He slips past her to his kitchenette without touching her. Clarke feels so lost, left adrift until Bellamy is back at her side with a mug of water. He ducks his head to look into her face and then gently touches just her elbow. “Come sit, ok?”

She follows his direction to his couch and sits slowly. He hands her the water but stays standing, retreating from her to lean against the wall opposite. Clarke takes a sip of water and wishes it were vodka, wishes it didn’t feel like all her courage had suddenly been sapped from her. 

“What do you want, Clarke?” Bellamy asks quietly after a minute of silence and Clarke takes a slow breath.

“You thought,” Clarke says when she trusts her voice enough for it not to shake, “that I had read this and that I didn’t feel the same. That I couldn’t handle what you were feeling and so I ended things between us.” 

Bellamy just looks at her, his face still impossible to read. “I.. I called it a crush,” Clarke says with a strained smile, remembering, “so you thought I didn’t take you seriously. That I was… I was trivializing everything you wrote, everything you felt.” Bellamy does make an involuntary noise at that, and his hand flies to his mouth as if to silence himself. “That’s right, isn’t it? You felt betrayed and scorned and like I wasn’t who you had… I wasn’t who you thought I was.

“I can’t take that mistake back. I can’t go back in time two months as much as I wish I could. God, Bellamy, I wish I could, because I wasn’t talking about your feelings.” Bellamy turns away from her suddenly, resting one hand against the wall, his head bowed.

“Clarke,” he says softly. “Don’t.”

“Bellamy, I was talking about how I felt,” Clarke pushes on despite his warning. “I… I was in love with you. And I called it a crush because I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want to drive you away.”

“And how-,” Bellamy starts loud, whirling back towards her and then stops and takes a slow breath. “Clarke, why the hell didn’t you just tell me? You didn’t think that could’ve been information that I wanted to have?”

“I was going to,” Clarke says staring up at him. “I was going to, Bellamy, but Octavia and Raven said they were trying to set you up with Gina and that you had told Octavia you didn’t want a relationship. That you would have one if you wanted one.” The words feel bitter in her mouth and Bellamy’s face hardens again.

“If I said that,” he starts, “it was to keep Octavia from pestering me about relationships. Whatever was said, it wasn’t supposed to get back to you. And you shouldn’t have made assumptions about it.”

“I was trying to honor you at your word,” Clarke says, defensive. “How was I supposed to know that what you tell Octavia is different from what you wanted to say to me?”

“You shouldn’t have asked to begin with! You should have just come to me.”

“I didn’t ask, Bellamy! Maybe you shouldn’t have lied to your sister, who you know is my best friend,” Clarke snaps. She catches herself and tries to take a calming breath. “I don’t want to argue about this. I just wanted to come here and tell you that I’m sorry I hurt you. It wasn’t intentional.”

“So what, Clarke? What do you think it’s going to fix? You think you can just,” he makes a complicated gesture with his hand, “and we can just make the last two months vanish?”

“No,” Clarke says helplessly. 

“Everything you’ve said, how you felt about me? I figured that out at O’s tonight. So what are you trying to accomplish coming over here in the middle of the night just to spell it all out for me?” 

“I don’t know,” Clarke says, panic in her chest, “I don’t know, Bellamy. I’m not working any angle here, I just… I’m trying to fix things between us. I’m trying to apologize.”

Bellamy scrubs a hand through his hair. “You’re trying to make me apologize too. You want me to feel bad for how I’ve treated you for the past two months. You want to feel better about yourself,” he accuses her.

“No, God, Bellamy, I’m not,” Clarke spits. “I feel like shit and telling you doesn’t make me feel any better. But you know what? At least I’m trying to make things right between us.”

“All of this could have been avoided if you just told me how you felt. If you trusted me. Honestly what did you think I was going to do, Clarke?”

“I thought…” Clarke starts and all the reasons dry up on her tongue. They all sound like excuses in the end. “I tried to. I thought, when I called you, it was clear I was talking about my feelings for you.”

Bellamy looks at her hard. “It wasn’t. Not at all, Clarke. Jesus, how hard,” he growls, “is it to say ‘I feel’? How goddamn hard is it to take ownership of your feelings? We could have avoided this whole mess if you had just used ‘I’ once.”

And that pisses Clarke off. She’s on her feet before she knows it, hackles up. God, but no one gets to her like Bellamy. “I don’t know, why don’t you tell me, Bellamy? You couldn’t even vocalize your feelings. You had to write them down and hide them in my sketchbook. Why didn’t you try to talk to me about it?”

“Don’t you dare,” Bellamy snaps, “blame this on me! This is not my fault.”

“I’m not saying it is!” Clarke snarls and Bellamy scoffs, not looking at her. His face is dark but pained, glaring at the floor to the right of them. God, they’ve gotten so good at hurting each other, it’s too easy. She has never wanted to make Bellamy look like that: furious and helpless and alone. How did they end up here? “I’m trying to say it’s mine. I’m trying to- to…” Saying it out loud makes her realize the stunning, bleak truth of it and suddenly Clarke feels like she can’t breath. “Oh god, this is all my fault.” As quickly as her anger was on her, it evaporates in the face of the rising tide of panic over how much she has ruined between them. “It’s all my fault,” she whispers again and sinks down on the couch, sick to her stomach. 

“I’m so sorry, Bellamy. I’m so sorry.” The panic thrills through her arms and crests over her head, drenching her in mind numbing dread. Finn, Lexa, she messed up those relationships. They’re her fault. And Bellamy… those warm afternoons sprawled on her floor, the way Bellamy laughed at her bad jokes, his hair curled around her fingers, his bad cooking, his kisses on her neck, his hand on her stomach… she feels for the first time the devastation of the permanent absence of those things- of Bellamy, from her life. They’re gone. They’re gone forever and it’s her fault. She feels like she’s shaking apart on the inside, can’t calm herself long enough to take a breath and she digs her nails harshly into her forearms trying to ground herself. But it’s her fault. It’s her fault.

Hands catch and gently cover her own, pulling them from their grip on her delicate skin. “Clarke,” Bellamy says, voice soft and close. “Clarke, hey, stop.”

“I can’t,” Clarke says, looking up into Bellamy’s face. He’s crouched before her, thumbs pressing gently into the center of her palms, all anger gone from his face replaced with a frantic concern. She doesn’t deserve that and her body shudders. “I’ve ruined everything. I drove you away, I made you hate me. I lost you. I can’t, you can’t hate me Bellamy. I need to make it better, tell me how to make it better.”

“Breathe, Clarke,” Bellamy urges her, “You need to breathe.”

Clarke shakes her head, gasping, shaking and suddenly Bellamy’s on the couch next to her, her cold hands enclosed in one of his as he wraps an arm around her shoulder and pulls her into his chest. She feels his heart beating wildly under her cheek, but she fights him. She doesn’t deserve this. “I fucked everything up.”

“Clarke, hey, hey, it’s ok. Like this,” Bellamy says urgent but soft and takes a slow deep breath through his nose. “Close your mouth. Breathe through your nose, Clarke.” 

Clarke shakes her head, tries to gulp down air through her mouth and feels it get trapped in her throat in short, shallow gasps. 

“Please,” Bellamy says, desperate, “Clarke, please, I need you to breathe through your nose, ok? You’re ok, I’m right here, I’ve got you, just breathe.” He pulls her tighter against him with his arm around her shoulders and squeezes her hands with his right hand, warm and large around her cold ones. Clarke tries to focus on that feeling of his hand and draws a shaky, short breath through her nose, weak, but it still reaches her lungs. 

“Good. Good girl,” Bellamy says, relief clear in his voice. “Again. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” Clarke takes another shallow breath through her nose. “Say it,” Bellamy insists, “Tell me I’m not going anywhere.”

Clarke tries but the words aren’t true. Bellamy’s already gone and it sends another wave of panic through her. She gets through this and he’ll be gone again. She gasps again, a terrified, high noise coming from her she doesn’t recognize. “No, no, Clarke, no,” Bellamy says, voice catching in his throat even as he tries to sooth her. “It’s ok. Listen, I don’t hate you. I’m not going anywhere. I could never hate you, Clarke. Breathe through your nose, yeah, there you go, say it now.”

Clarke finds her voice, it’s too high, too weak for her to recognize as her own, but she manages it. “You’re not going anywhere?”

“That’s right,” Bellamy whispers, squeezing her hands again. “That’s right. I’m right here, okay? I’m right here.” He rubs her arm gently and Clarke is suddenly crying, face buried in his chest, tears hot and seeping into Bellamy’s shirt. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, curling her fingers into his hand. “I never wanted this to happen. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Clarke,” Bellamy says brokenly and it just makes her cry harder. “God, Clarke. This isn’t on you.” He says it into her hair, mouth resting gently on her head. “I fucked up too. I hate that this is where we are, I hate it. But I don’t blame you.”

“You should,” Clarke says.

“No, I shouldn’t. We did this together, neither one of us is responsible for this alone, ok?” Clarke doesn’t say anything for a moment, just takes a shaky inhale. Her tears are slowly washing the panic away from her chest, purging it from her body as her heart rate slows. It leaves her feeling washed out and lost but for Bellamy’s solid warmth against her cheek and grounding her with the pressure of his hands. “You hear me?” Bellamy asks again after the silence stretches. “We did this together.”

“Ok,” Clarke whispers.

“Yeah?” Bellamy asks. “I need to hear you say it, Clarke.”

“We did this together. It’s not my fault.” Clarke repeats dutifully, and saying it calms something deep inside her as Bellamy hums in agreement.

“Yeah,” Bellamy whispers. “It’s not all on you.” His hands are so gentle on her, his thumb gently stroking the back of her hand, his hand on her arm moving up and down in a slow, heavy motion. He lets Clarke catch her breath against his chest, shuddering a little through the last of her tears until there’s nothing left and she’s just listening to the soft thump of his heartbeat. Neither of them say anything for a long time, just the sound of their breathing filling Bellamy’s apartment. He doesn’t stop the motion of his hands. He’s still here. 

“Hey,” Bellamy says softly after time seems to have stretched into eternity and Clarke is starting to doze against him. “It’s late, Clarke.”

Clarke jolts upright, heart beating suddenly wildly in her chest again. “Shit, shit I’m sorry. I should go.”

“No, hey, Clarke, easy,” Bellamy says, squeezing her hands. “I was going to say you should stay here, I don’t want you going home this late at night. My bed’s big enough and… I mean, I’ll take the couch.”

Clarke looks at him exhausted and the offer of sleep soon, sleep near him is almost too tempting to resist. But even through her emotionally wrought haze, Gina’s face swims up to her mind. Clearly there’s something between them: Bellamy’s ease around Gina earlier this evening evident and Gina’s warm smile when she looked at him had said enough. She almost asks him but when she meets his eyes, she realizes he must have considered this already and still offered. She wasn’t cruel enough to make him defend his rationale aloud. 

“I don’t want you to sleep on the couch,” Clarke says softly and Bellamy nods. 

“Ok. Come on, alright? We can… we can talk in the morning.” Clarke nods and Bellamy stands and gently catches her hands again to pull her up. 

She’s on autopilot, follows his gentle pressure on her shoulders to his bedroom, which looks exactly the same when she last saw it. He leaves her standing in the middle of his room while he goes through a drawer, and then he’s gently unzipping her hoodie and pushing it off her shoulders. He helps her step out of her dress and drapes it over the closet door. “Arms up,” he says quietly and Clarke finds herself swimming in one of his t-shirts, over large and brushing her bare thighs. Then she’s in Bellamy’s bed and the light is off, Bellamy sliding carefully under the sheets on the other side. “Alright?” he whispers in the darkness and Clarke answers him on a soft breath. He’s not close enough to touch, but his presence is warm and familiar and Clarke feels herself sucked down into sleep almost instantly. It’s the best she’s slept in months.

She wakes up when the sun reaches her face on the pillow. She blinks a few times, disoriented and then everything that happened the previous night comes rushing back and she sits up quickly. Bellamy isn’t in bed beside her and the apartment is quiet, but when she she sticks her head into his little hallway, she sees Bellamy reading on his couch in the same clothes as he was wearing the night before. 

He looks up when she steps out and closes his bedroom door behind her. “Clarke. Hey.” He puts his book on the coffee table as Clarke joins him, sitting carefully on the arm of the couch next to him, leaving some space between them. He smiles tentatively at her and she returns it. “I didn’t want to wake you up,” he says after a minute. 

“I’m surprised you’re…” Clarke starts, almost teasing him about being up before her, but the sentiment feel strange and foreign between them and she stops, uncomfortable. “Thanks for letting me stay,” she says instead.

“Of course.” Bellamy says. He considers her for a long moment and then shakes his head. “How are you doing?”

The question surprises a laugh out of her, dark and humourless and she and Bellamy both wince at the sound. “Not great, clearly,” Clarke says after a moment, apologetically. “I’m sorry I… that I showed up here last night. And that I… put all that on you,” she says awkwardly, gesturing to herself and Bellamy shakes his head.

“No, don’t be. We were overdue to talk. Do you, do you feel up to talking now?” Bellamy asks her and Clarke nods slowly, her heart racing in her chest but she takes a careful breath and grounds herself in Bellamy’s gentle expression. 

“Yeah. Bellamy, I’m sorry that I jumped to conclusions about how you felt about me. What Octavia told me you said… I couldn’t imagine trying to tell you how I… that I loved you and have you say the same things to me. And I was worried that you might feel pressured to date me because we’d been… we’d been ‘us’ for so long. And I’m sorry I wasn’t able to brave enough to make that clearer when I ended things.”

Bellamy nods slowly, considering her. “What you heard from Octavia, I probably did say that. And if that is what she said I told her, I don’t blame you for not wanting to talk to me about it.” He pauses for a moment and then squints and continues. “It probably doesn’t mean anything now, but it was because Octavia was pushing me so hard to go on a blind date that night that I realized that what I had been saying to her didn’t feel true anymore. I did want something more, I just wanted it with you.” His voice breaks a bit and Clarke looks away, gives him a moment to collect himself. 

“I wrote you that letter because I’ve never felt that way about anyone before. I just… I had no idea how to tell you that in person, you know?”

“Yeah, I get that,” Clarke says with another little laugh. “I clearly get that.” Bellamy’s lips twitch and it sends a distant, old familiar warmth to her chest. 

“When I came home,” Clarke says carefully, “I know I acted pretty cavalier, and I get why that hurt you with what you assumed about why I ended things with you. I was just trying to show you that I was ok and that you could have been friends with me without worrying about how I felt with you.”

Bellamy considers this for a moment and Clarke sees him replaying all their small interactions. There’s pain on his face and Clarke wonders how many seemingly innocuous things she said that felt like a dismissal to Bellamy. “I’m so sorry I hurt you,” she says again and Bellamy meets her eyes carefully. There are still some residual walls up behind them but for the first time in a long while, Clarke sees how raw their time apart has left Bellamy.

“Yeah,” Bellamy says after a moment. “That all makes sense. And I’m sorry I pushed you away so hard. It felt like… like you really didn’t care that you hurt me. And I got bitter about it.”

“Me too,” Clarke says quietly and they smile at each other again, careful and shy and a bit embarrassed across the couch between them.

“I should have talked to you sooner,” Bellamy says at last. “We both should have.”

“Yeah,” Clarke agrees and looks down at her hands twisting in the hem of Bellamy’s shirt. “It would’ve been great if we were both emotionally mature, competent adults.” It surprises a laugh out of Bellamy, a real one, and Clarke is suddenly swamped by the degree to which she just misses Bellamy in her life. She misses him being happy and if she could just see him that way, carefree and lighthearted, she doesn’t think she would need anything else from him. 

“I- I really miss you, Bellamy,” Clarke says before she can stop herself and Bellamy’s breath catches in his throat and she sees him swallow. He looks down at his hands interlaced between his legs and nods slowly. 

“God, I miss you too, Clarke.” She wants to reach out and touch him but there’s still so much distance between them that Clarke doesn’t know how to bridge. They’re strangers to each other still. But just talking to him has already made Clarke feel more whole than she has in a while.

“Do you think,” Clarke says carefully, “that we could try to be friends? Sincerely, this time?”

A ghost of a smile crosses Bellamy’s face and he looks up at her. “I want us to be.”

“Ok,” Clarke says and then carefully extends her hand out across the space between them. Bellamy grasps it in his own, thumb stroking once over the back of her hand before it stills and he just holds her fingers in his own, looking up at her. “To being ok.”

“To being friends,” Bellamy says and squeezes her hand before letting go. They sit quietly together for a moment, just looking at each other before Bellamy’s stomach grumbles and he huffs, looking embarrassed. 

“If you have eggs, I could make friendship affirming breakfast,” Clarke offers and Bellamy smiles.

“Sure. Let me go buy some friendship affirming coffee. My instant still sucks, it would probably offend your coffee snob taste buds." 

“Pleb,” Clarke says lightly as she stands up. “Here I am, cooking Barefoot Contessa style and you’re getting me store bought coffee.”

“Buy me a coffee maker, and I’ll Barefoot Contessor your ass right back.”

“That’s not a thing,” Clarke says loftily, biting back her smile as she sets a pan on the stove. 

“You would know, Princess,” Bellamy huffs and her nickname sounds good in his mouth again. 

That night, Octavia shows up true to her word, over worried and with grocery bags and cooks Clarke dinner again. When she looks Clarke over, though, she nods approvingly. “You look better,” she assesses. 

“Yeah, I think I am.” Clarke agrees. 

Sunday night is movie night. When Clarke walks into Monroe’s living room, Bellamy and Gina are sitting together on the couch and Bellamy doesn’t immediately look at her. Clarke feels her stomach drop and sits carefully in one of Monroe’s chairs worrying her lip. But then Bellamy does look up at her from his conversation with Gina and meets her eyes, a small smile on his face. His eyes are shy but soft and Clarke calms. 

Yeah, they’re going to be ok.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am quietly whimpering about Bellarke and the 100 on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/verbam). Come join me!


	7. Spring is Sure to Follow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to cetaprincipessa for her A+ beta-ing and support.
> 
> And thank you, again and forever, to everyone leaving reviews and kudos. Seriously, I grin like an idiot when I read your feedback, y'all are pretty spectacular.

Rebuilding a friendship is not easy. 

Clarke didn’t necessarily think it was going to be, but she’s still surprised how exhausted she is by the end of an evening being around Bellamy. It’s not the same exhaustion that came with their angry, hurt distance: that exhaustion was cold and expansive, settled deep in her chest and made her feel like she’d never get enough sleep to ever be over it. This exhaustion is the exhaustion of hard work. It stems from fighting to remember that she and Bellamy aren’t at each other’s throats any more, that she can meet his eyes without fear of the look she’ll find in the them. That she can speak up in a conversation and won’t feel his derision. That he can lean into Gina’s side and she doesn’t have to feel rejected and betrayed. That when she hears Bellamy laugh, she doesn’t have to find a way to make him feel awful.

The fact that she’s so ready to do any of things is pretty terrible, she thinks a little sadly as she watches Bellamy and Lincoln playing beer pong. They’re at Murphy’s apartment for once, which is pretty nice as apartments go (even interning as a criminal defense lawyer is apparently pretty lucrative... a sure sign of evil) and Clarke, Octavia and Raven are sprawled across Murphy’s couch watching their friends’ showdown. While they’re both laughing, there’s a steely glint in both of their eyes and tension in their shoulders that suggestions this is right on the line between friendly fun and high key masculine competition.

“And Blake lines up the shot- the man’s full of confidence tonight, and- Oh, he’s missed again. Tough luck for those die hard Blake fans in the audience tonight, but Team Lincoln is looking strong,” Raven offers commentary dryly and Bellamy sends her a disparaging glance

Octavia cheers when Lincoln sinks his next throw and Bellamy looks only mildly betrayed.

“You’re supposed to be on my team, O. We’re family.”

“Yeah, but it’s cute when Lincoln’s competitive. With you it’s just embarrassing.” Octavia informs him and Bellamy rolls his eyes.

“Fraternal loyalty at an all time low in the stands. Future ‘root carreer looking bleak for Big Blake,” Raven narrates and Bellamy shakes his head even as a smile tugs at his lips.

Clarke doesn’t have to remind herself that she likes seeing Bellamy happy, it’s ok to admit that to herself now that they’ve achieved their ceasefire and something she’s not sure she’ll ever shake from having been in love with him. It’s harder to remember that he wants to see her happy as well, that she can let down her guard and not feel anxious when she catches Bellamy glancing at her as she laughs with Raven and Octavia, that she doesn’t have to brace herself for an attack.And that’s the exhausting part: learning to trust herself and trust him again. 

They’re doing ok, though. For the most part. They haven’t really spoken since the sunny morning in Bellamy’s apartment when they sat on his couch and ate eggs and just learned how to share the same space again. There’s some awkwardness that lingers between them just because they’ve never been in this situation before. They knew how to be friends by association through Octavia; knew how to be friends who slept together on the downlow; knew how to be friends who secretly loved each other; knew how to hate each other. They don’t know how to just be _friends_ , full stop. 

“Last shot,” Lincoln says, carefully tracing the trajectory of his ball with his wrist.

“Big talk,” Bellamy says and then frowns as Lincoln sinks the ping pong ball in Bellamy’s last red solo cup. Bellamy good naturedly chugs his beer to the sounds of Octavia’s whooping cheers and Raven trying to recapture a play-by-play of their game to the best of her ability. 

“Good game, man,” Lincoln offers with a grin, “sorry I kicked your ass.”

“Good game, but now you’re against Monroe,” Bellamy says with a smirk. “Monroe, come avenge me.”

Monroe gives him a little two fingered salute from her forehead and takes Bellamy’s place back at the table, quickly racking up the cups to their neat formation. She gives the ping pong ball a little spinning curve as she tosses it in her palm, waiting for Lincoln to set up his cups again. Lincoln eyes her carefully, suddenly less confident against Monroe’s cocky smile.

Bellamy retreats to lean back against the wall on the other side of the table and catches the can of PBR Murphy tosses at him without warning. He pops the top open, takes a long chug and looks so thoroughly proud of Monroe as she sinks her first throw easily that Clarke decides _why the hell not_. She wants the tough part to be behind them. She wants to be comfortable around Bellamy again, to tease him the way Raven and Octavia can without it being weird.

“So you suck at that,” Clarke says as lightly as she can when she joins Bellamy leaning against the wall, trying to ignore the way her heart beats in her throat. Bellamy looks at her out of the corner of his eye, “Like really suck,” Clarke clarifies with a smile and his face twitches, trying to keep himself from smiling back. “Did you never play when you were in college?”

“Somehow not,” Bellamy says. “Trying to make up for lost time now.”

“Well,” Clarke says, “Octavia and I were pretty vicious if you ever need pointers.”

“Yeah?” Bellamy asks, settling against the wall more comfortably and turning his head to look at her for the first time. “I may take you up on that.”

Clarke nods and then silence stretches between them as they watch Monroe and Lincoln sink ball after ball against each other. They’re evenly matched and both are grinning with their teeth showing, a little too fierce. Clarke tries to think of what else to say to Bellamy, her heart aching a bit that it doesn’t come naturally, wishing it did.

“How… uh, how is the clinic?” Bellamy asks and winces, giving her a rueful little smile and she realizes he’s struggling too. They’ve been reduced to small talk, so markedly different from the way their conversation used to flow naturally when they had spent hours in Clarke’s apartment. It’s a painful realization that this is something else they’ve lost, even after they’ve spent two months of mutually destroying any vestiges of intimacy. But he’s trying. They’re both trying and that’s something. Clarke smiles a bit back at him.

“It’s good. Crazy hours as usual, but no weird outbreaks of anything that we’re seeing, so that’s a plus.”

Bellamy nods slowly. “Well that’s good. Are you still doing the coat drive?”

“Yeah, wrapping it up soon, but it always seems like there are kids without something warm to wear.”

“I picked a few up cheap at a thrift shop yesterday. I thought you might want them.” He glances at her uncertainly and Clarke feels a smile break out across her face, unforced. 

“I do. That was really thoughtful. Thank you.” Bellamy shrugs a bit, like it’s nothing, but Clarke suddenly recognizes the way his cheek dimples even without a smile when he’s pleased and it warms her. “How is your Spring semester going?”

“It’s good actually,” Bellamy says, rolling his shoulders back against the wall. “I’m TA-ing a class about ancient technology, it’s pretty interesting. And a few of the students I had last semester are in it, too.”

“Charlotte?” Clarke asks and Bellamy turns to look at her again, a surprised smile on his mouth. 

“Yeah. Yeah, you remembered. Charlotte’s in that class and she also enrolled in Latin, apparently.”

“Looks like you didn’t scare her off after all,” Clarke says dryly and Bellamy chuckles, shifting his weight.

“Guess not. Uh, Octavia was telling me Lincoln has an art show coming up?”

“Yeah,” Clarke laughs, combing her hand back through her hair to get it off her face. “It’s been really cool getting it all together. And Lincoln is spotlighting a few up-and-coming artists he knows as well, so it’s been cool getting to know them and working with them.”

“Is he featuring you?” Bellamy asks and Clarke almost laughs, but when she glances at him there’s only sincerity in his gaze, like he honestly believes her art is worth putting in a show. His quiet belief in her renders her speechless for a moment and she shakes her head with a little half smile.

“No, I don’t think I’m really on the same level,” Clarke says looking down at the drink in her hand and catches Bellamy shift again out of the corner of her eye. 

“Oh. Well. You know I think you’re talented,” Bellamy says after a moment, voice just a little too brusque and when she looks back up at him he’s not looking at her, studying his beer can instead. She wonders if his belief in her talent feels like a sore subject for him, tarnished by their anger the way her fond memories of him still are. It’s a fine line to walk. How much of what they had before can they acknowledge? What risks crossing the line from wanting to be friends and wanting to get back the good things they had about each other to the dangerous place that falls too close to the deeper intimacy they shared: still splinter sharp and dangerously easy to wound with unintentionally? Clarke has no idea, but at least, she thinks, Bellamy doesn’t either. They can decide, together.

“Thank you,” Clarke says and he cuts his eyes towards her and nods a little. “I had good models,” she offers tentatively and it feels like a weight is lifted when Bellamy actually smiles at her, real and easy on his mouth. 

“Blake genes are pretty spectacular,” Bellamy says cockily and Clarke snorts.

“Ok, Bellamy.”

“Hey, you said it first, Clarke.” He says with a raised eyebrow, lips hovering over the rim of his beer can and Clarke just rolls her eyes and shake her head.

“And remind me what I’ve said about your ego?”

Bellamy chuckles with genuine amusement. “Nothing flattering that I can recall.”

“That sounds about right,” Clarke says and twists her lips to make a face at Bellamy. He cocks his head back, smiling down at her and Clarke lets her face relax and smiles back. And it feels good.

There’s a cheer as Monroe sinks her last ball, beating Lincoln by one cup. Lincoln laughs and happily drains his beer. “Hey, Bellamy,” Murphy calls. “We’re playing doubles, and I managed to draw your name. So help me God, if I have to carry your sorry gremlin ass to victory, I will.”

“Duty calls,” Bellamy says and Clarke gestures with her hand.

“Break a leg out there.” 

“Thanks,” Bellamy murmurs and gives her a last glance before he joins Murphy at the table again. 

Bellamy turns out to be one of those annoyingly rare people who gets better the drunker he gets. Murphy carries them most of the way, but once they beat Jasper and Maya and play Clarke and Octavia, Bellamy’s actually sinking at least one out of every three throws he makes. Clarke wasn’t lying though, she and Octavia have played enough ‘root games that they make more shots than they miss. There’s a lot of trash talking, especially between Bellamy and Octavia, but Clarke only targets Murphy when he’s lining up his shots. She’s not ready to mock Bellamy yet, even if it’s jest. In the end they beat Team Murphamy, as they’ve been dubbed by Raven, by four cups and Murphy swears a lot at them and Clarke swears back at him just as viciously.

“Fucking face the fact that we beat you and drink your goddamn beer, Murphy.” She growls and Bellamy raises an eyebrow and downs his beer without complaint as Murphy still scowls.

“Fuck you Griffin, if I wasn’t carrying Bellamy, I would have beaten you, even two against one.”

“Wow, so I’ve missed a lot,” Gina says, closing the door to the apartment behind her and dropping her coat on the pile of everyone else’s by their shoes. “You didn’t tell me there was going to be a beer pong tournament, Bel.”

“Hey,” Bellamy says with a smile and gives her a kiss on the cheek hello as he and Murphy relinquish their spot at the table to Monty and Miller. Monroe and Lincoln have teamed up and look incredibly imposing as they rack up their cups without a word spoken between them. Clarke sees Monty and Miller exchange a worried glance as she and Octavia squeeze into an overlarge armchair. 

“How was your shift?” Bellamy asks giving Gina his hand when she reaches for it. 

“It was good,” Gina says, intertwining their fingers. “Though I would have much rather been here, I haven’t played ‘pong in ages.” She leans up on her tiptoes and kisses Bellamy on the lips. Clarke looks away and cheers for Lincoln and Monroe when they sink their balls, eerily insync, one after the other into Monty and Miller’s back left corner cup.

“Do you want to play a round?” Clarke hears Bellamy ask Gina softly. “I’ve been told I’m terrible but I bet you could more than make up for me.”

“Ah, poor thing,” Gina teases Bellamy. “Does your ego need a boost? Come on, I can help with that.”

When Clarke glances back over, Bellamy’s mouth is twisted into a small smile. “Yeah?” He asks Gina quietly.

“You know it,” Gina says leaning into him and kisses him again, chaste and quick, and Bellamy’s smile isn’t one Clarke recognizes when Gina pulls back. It’s a sweet smile, fond, but it doesn’t spread across his face in the way that Clarke’s used to his smiles doing. It’s unsettling to Clarke that it’s a smile she hasn’t seen before, but she reminds herself it’s not her place any more to be privileged to Bellamy’s private smiles. 

Gina grins up into his face. “But let me get a drink first. I clearly need to catch up.”

“Well, if you like shitty beer,” Bellamy says, “you’re in luck.”

**

The warmer weather of late February kicks off a renewal of Clarke’s friends social inclinations. Every night there’s a blast of texts inviting people over or trying to rally each other to go out. Although Clarke can’t feasibly make it every night, she knows that Octavia and Raven meet their friends out at least once or twice a week at Dropship. Clarke settles for snapchats of their friends buzzed faces and when Clarke gets home late and too tired to go out, Octavia and Raven call her and fill her in on what she’s missed, talking over each other in their excitement. Realistically, Clarke never feels like she’s missed out on too much, but when she can make it to Miller’s hang on Wednesday evening and then to Jasper and Monty’s on Friday, it feels like a relief. 

“Who just came in and do they want a shot?” Raven calls from the living room when she hears Clarke close the door behind her. Gina sticks her head out into the hallway and grins at Clarke.

“Shot?” She asks her. 

“Like four, please,” Clarke sighs as she shrugs off her light jacket and drops her backpack stuffed full of her clinic scrubs and the new textbook she picked up on her way over. She missed her opportunity to register for Spring semester classes, but having basically self taught herself Psych 101 last semester with Kane’s guidance, she figures she can tackle Child Psychology. She’d already emailed Kane to see if he would be willing to mentor her as she needed it. His near instant, enthusiastic reply had really been all the motivation she needed. 

“Long day?” Gina asks sympathetically, leaning on the doorframe and waiting for Clarke to join her before she ducks back into the living room. 

“Yeah. Down a doctor at the clinic and had a lot of people come into day. Thanks,” she says kneels next to Lincoln on the floor around the coffee table and Raven passes her a shot. “Is this… sambuca?”

“You know it, babe,” Raven says with a wink, and passes two shots to Bellamy and Gina who are sitting together on the couch, Gina tucked between Bellamy’s shoulder and the couch arm. Murphy is looking uncomfortable next them, taking up way too much space with his open legged sprawl. 

“Sounds like a rough day,” Bellamy offers and Clarke nods. His tone is hesitant, careful and Clarke still struggles to meet his eyes. The tentativeness between them feels fresh and new each time they see each other. It’s hard to feel like they’re making progress in terms of being friends when feels like they still reset to being uncertain around each other each time they interact.

“Nothing that alcohol can’t cure though,” Octavia wagers and lifts her shot glass. “Bottoms up, kids.”

“You’re the youngest one here,” Bellamy grumbles but clinks his little glass to everyone else’s and they all down their shots. Clarke pulls a face and steals a sip of Raven’s glass of orange juice only to glare at her accusingly.

“There’s vodka in that,” she accuses and Raven just laughs. 

“Gotta catch up, Griffin. No chasers here, just true weekend warriors.”

“In that case,” Clarke says with a sigh, gathering her legs under her but Bellamy is already standing up and he waves her back down with a little half turn of his palm. 

“I’m going anyway, I’m out.” He gives his empty glass a little shake so that the ice cubes rattle. “What do you want?”

“Oh, you can just grab me whatever you’re getting,” Clarke says, looking up at Bellamy, a little surprised. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Bellamy says with a little half smile and disappears into the kitchen as Jasper comes stumbling back into the room, already high and laughing. 

“Alright, found it. Oh hey, Clarke.” She grins at him. “Ladies and Gentlemen, Weirdo and Weirdette, prepare yourselves for the best Friday night activity bar none: Cards Against Humanity.” Jasper presents his box and the extension boxes he’s piled on top of his original pack with a flourish and there’s a sardonic cheer. 

“Please, please, I know,” Jasper says, dropping down and putting the boxes on the table. “I’m amazing. Hold your applause.” 

“But that’s all we wanted to do,” Monty says dryly, “celebrate how awesome you are.”

“Shut it,” Jasper says good naturedly and starts doling out cards to everyone.

Bellamy shuffles back in the room and carefully places a mixed drink in front of Clarke on the coffee table. She manages to smile up at him. “Thank you. What are we having?”

“Rum and cokes,” Bellamy says, lingering next to her for a moment. “Miller apparently drank the last of the IPAs… and those are your favorite, right?” Bellamy asks hesitantly.

“They are,” Clarke says, “but rum and coke is a good alternative. Thank you.” She almost pats his socked foot, but the thought of touching him without knowing if he wants her too makes her throat close up and she finds she can’t. She settles for giving him a friendly little nod and Bellamy nods in response, then slides back onto the couch next to Gina,

They successfully play Cards Against Humanity for about forty-five minutes, and Clarke even wins a few white cards. She’s annoyed that her friends are still surprised when she throws in shocking cards that make everyone either laugh aloud or wince. “I’m fun, you guys,” she protests against the skepticism. 

“Yeah, it’s just no one expects you to be the most terrible out of all of us,” Miller offers and Clarke shrugs.

“I’m just creative,” she says with a grin. “And have very few limits,”

Eventually though, as usually happens when they try to do an organized activity for too long, they have enough alcohol and are too distracted by side conversations that crop up that the game falls apart, piles of cards abandoned on the table when Octavia hijacks Jasper’s sound system and changes his mellow electronic playlist to her specially curated “Friday Funk Night”. Raven and Clarke lean back against the foot of the couch and Raven gets caught up in updating Clarke on her favorite TV shows, trying to explain the complicated plots to each episode, constantly backtracking to fill her in on details she had left out from the start, and Clarke laughs until her stomach hurts. 

Clarke’s buzzed and happy when finds herself out on Jasper and Monty’s tiny balcony, more of person sized windowbox than anything else, slotting her legs between the wrought iron bars and sharing half a spliff with Miller, Monty leaning his shins into Miller’s back and reaching down occasionally to steal the spliff from Miller’s fingers. They look so natural together, Miller grinning unabashedly up at Monty when Monty says something abstract about the moon, Monty teasing Miller when he coughs on a hasty inhale, that Clarke can’t help but feel a reminiscent pang of loss. 

It’s not all consuming and it’s not heart breaking, it’s just there, that simple idea of what she and Bellamy could have had if they hadn’t fucked things up. “You guys,” Clarke starts, a little high and a little over affectionate, “I haven’t told you, but I’m just really glad you’re together.”

“Thanks Clarke,” Monty laughs and reaches down to rumple her hair. “You’re sweet.”

“No you,” Clarke snarks and Miller shakes his head.

“You’re both idiots,” he informs them. But then the music shifts and Monty tugs on Miller’s jean jacket.

“Dance with me?” Monty asks, leaning down to ask it close and sweet into Miller’s ear and Miller gives him a hot look that Clarke looks away from.

“You know it,” she hears Miller say and then, “you staying out here, Clarke?”

“Yeah,” she says with a grin, “the fresh air is nice.”

“We’ll be back,” Monty promises and she waves them off. They stumble inside, laughing and Clarke sighs into the silence. It’s nice, to have a moment alone. The wind is cool on her flushed face, heightened by a little weed and the alcohol she’s been knocking back. With her friends’ loud chatter and happy laughter at her back, she feels just as at home out here as she does with Octavia’s familiar fingers in her hair. 

Clarke tries to pinpoint the ache of the loss, why she feels dissatisfied. Technically, she and Bellamy are back to the level of friendship they had before they started hooking up: friendly with a few words exchanged here and there, not hostile like when they first met, both wary of the other’s presence in Octavia’s life, but by no means close friends. It should be enough, but it’s not. Not even close. Clarke wants Bellamy’s trust, his confidence with a fierce hunger that scares her. She’s never yearned so intensely for someone who was still by all intents and purposes in her life. She misses Bellamy as she had had him, as they had had each other. Here, now, they are strangers by comparison.

“Can I join you?” Clarke glances back over her shoulder and Bellamy’s just behind her, tentative, as if summoned by her thoughts.

“Of course.” She pats the floor next to her and Bellamy sits down slowly, back against the bars and keeps his knees bent in front of him, propping his chin on his elbow and studying her.

“Having fun?” Clarke asks conversationally after a moment of mostly comfortable silence between them. 

“Sure,” Bellamy says easily. “It’s always a good time.”

“So what are you doing out here?” Clarke asks him.

“Well,” Bellamy says, “Gina’s killing Raven in a freestyle battle, and I look pretty pathetic next to that.. and you looked lonely.”

“First, probably a smart move, you want to preserve that cool, nonchalant vibe as long as you can before she finds out you’re a nerd.” Bellamy scoffs at that and Clarke can’t help but smile. “And two… thanks. The company’s always nice.”

Bellamy gives her a half nod, understanding. “You doing ok?” He asks after a moment and Clarke shrugs. When she glances at him, he’s studying her carefully, and his dark eyes flick between her own, eye brows raised inquisitively. 

“Yeah. Sometimes it’s just…” she starts and forces herself to go on. Too much has been left unsaid between her and Bellamy in the past for her to feel comfortable not voicing her thoughts to him. Not if they’re actively trying to be friends again. “I just think about everything that we’ve lost. I know you’re with Gina,” she says quickly, not looking at Bellamy. “And I promise, I’m not pining after you, not anymore. I just miss the good parts of us, you know?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy says on an exhale. “I know what you mean. But that dynamic, what we had, Clarke... we can be friends and have that, right?”

“I think we can,” Clarke agrees, picking self consciously at her nails. “I just worry you think I’m going to be… I don’t know, encroaching on what you’re building with Gina. That maybe I want this more than you do.”

“You and me, Clarke,” Bellamy says slowly, tipping his head back against the railing. “That doesn’t have to effect what Gina and I have. Listen,” he says, suddenly fervent. “I am committed to us being friends. I want us to be ok... more than that. I want us to be good, ok?”

Clarke nods, slow. “Ok.” And then, “I just feel like we keep ending up back at square one. Like we can talk and then the next time I see you, I still don’t know what to say to say to you, how to talk to you.”

“I know,” Bellamy says gently. “I feel that way too” They sit in silence for a moment and then Bellamy takes a breath. “So, it just means we really put in the effort.” Bellamy says fiercely. “We can do that, right?”

“We are, aren’t we?” Clarke asks. “I think we’re trying to.”

“Yeah. But… honestly, I miss just spending time with you,” Bellamy says slowly. “That’s how we first… that’s where we were good, wasn’t it?” His dark eyes dart between her own and Clarke looks back at him, considering.

“We could go back to having study dates,” Clarke offers. “Did I tell you I’m going to teach myself Child Psychology?”

“Are you?” Bellamy asks with a smile, “that’s pretty great. Good for you.”

“Thanks,” Clarke says.

“Study dates, though,” Bellamy muses slowly. “That would be nice. And it gives us a chance to-”

“-to actually reconnect,” Clarke finishes and he nods. “Without all of… this.” Clarke waves her hands, trying to gesture at their friends, at the careful way they have to behave around each other: hyper aware and second guessing their actions, judgements already muddled by alcohol and weed; the things they have to leave unsaid; the party atmosphere that demands they fulfill their social obligations that take them away from each other. 

“Yeah,” Bellamy huffs and scrubs a hand through his hair. “I mean...” He tilts his head back and looks up at the clear sky above them and muses, “There’s a nice coffee shop on campus, if you wanted to meet there.”

“That sounds good,” Clarke says, relieved and a little bit glad that they won’t be meeting at her place. It feels too soon to have Bellamy over when they are so at odds with how they were when they were last together in her apartment. “You know, if we were clever, we could rotate coffee shops, check out all the good ones in DC.”

“We could keep a list,” Bellamy laughs, “all the spots that are better than my shitty Instant.”

“Oh, buddy.” Clarke says, “That’s going to be a really long list.”

“Alright, alright, how about the places that have better coffee than you?”

“That sounds a little more reasonable. I’m going to make a coffee snob out of you yet,” Clarke teases him and swings her legs and is surprised by the burst of light in her chest when Bellamy smile at her, the smile real. Each of his smiles that she elicits feels like salve on the wounded part of her that’s still recovering from their two months of bitterness. This one is lit from the golden glow pouring out from the window and Clarke tilts her head against the rail to study it on his face, relearning the curve of his mouth on his face. 

“You already have. I’m a hopeless case, Clarke. I’m ruined forever,” Bellamy sighs with a hint of dramatic flare and Clarke chuckles. He turns to look at her again but he doesn’t say anything else. Clarke looks back at him, mouth twitching up at the corner in a little half smile in return, content to meet his eyes in the silence between them. 

Then the music stops abruptly, cut off mid song and Octavia can be heard swearing loudly before it’s changed to something Pop-y and high key. They both grin when Octavia’s tirade only gets louder and Bellamy raises his eyebrows at Clarke in amusement before he pushes himself up to his feet. 

“I’m going to go do some big brother damage control. You want to come inside?”

“Yeah, I think I could probably use another drink now,” Clarke says and scoots back so she can pull her legs back in. She leverages herself up off the rail and steps back through the window after Bellamy. Bellamy smiles at her over his shoulder before he heads in the direction of Octavia’s voice. 

“Clarke, hey!” Raven calls from her spot on the couch, legs over Gina’s lap and waving at her. Clarke flops down next to them and returns Gina’s smile.

“Where you been?” Raven asks, passing Clarke her glass, from which Clarke dutifully takes a sip.

“Just out on the balcony chatting,” Clarke says, “Bellamy said that you two were freestyling?”

“Gina won hands down,” Raven says and Gina laughs, bright and clear. 

“My cousin thought he was a big deal when when we were growing up,” Gina said, “I learned pretty quickly how to beat him at his own game.”

“Hey,” Raven says, toeing Clarke in the thigh. “Gina and I were going to go get brunch and do some closet upgrading for Spring, you want to come?”

“Please come,” Gina says, “otherwise I’ll have no one to make long suffering eye contact with when Raven doesn’t stop talking about work.”

“Rude,” Raven says unperturbed as Clarke passes her drink back. “Clarke would never do that to me.”

Clarke and Gina exchange just such a look and Raven kicks at Clarke. “Traitor.”

“Sorry, babe, but Gina’s too cool to let down.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Raven says resigned, “Gina puts us all to shame.”

Clarke wakes up the next morning only mildly hung over and manages to make herself look reasonably presentable in enough time to meet Raven and Gina across town for brunch. They’re already at a table with mimosas and coffee and Clarke almost cries in relief when she realizes Raven’s ordered her both as well. 

When Clarke looks up from her menu, she realizes that the button down that Gina’s wearing is one of Bellamy’s shirts, loose with the cuffs rolled up around Gina’s elbows, the dark blue material making her chestnut hair pop. The inner white collar has just a bit of dirt smudged on it and Clarke wonders if it smells like Bellamy’s cologne. Clarke bites her lip to keep from commenting on it and just smiles when Gina meets her gaze with raised eyebrows across the table. 

“Ok, Clarke?”

“Just in that hazy hung-over state,” Clarke says with a wave of her hand. “Think they’ll give me two sides of bacon without judging me too hard?”

“If they judge you, I judge them,” Raven says without looking up from her menu.

Gina makes Clarke laugh almost as much as Raven does. She’s got a buoyant, light hearted humor about her, but can be just as cutting as Raven when she chooses. She’s easy and free with her smiles and treats Clarke like an old friend although they’ve hardly spent any time together. Clarke finds she opens up to her faster than she does with most people, and is even cajoled by both Raven and Gina to tell them about her night about Niylah, when the conversation turns, inevitably, towards sex.

“See, I’ve never been with another girl,” Gina says, propping her chin in her hand. “I wish I weren’t so tragically straight ‘cause it sounds like fun.”

“Definitely helps to not be straight,” Clarke agrees with a laugh. “I don’t know, for me it’s less the gender of the person I’m with and more the chemistry we have.”

“I can imagine,” Gina says. “Chemistry counts for a lot and if it’s not there it’s hard to make up for. But like, wouldn’t you say physicality is a huge factor of that? Just because you’re…” Gina waits for Clarke say “bi” before she continues, and Clarke is quietly thankful Gina doesn’t make a broad sweeping assumption. “Right, just because you’re bi doesn’t mean you’re into everyone, you still have traits you’re attracted to, and one’s you aren’t. I think my partner being and presenting as male does it for me. You know, it’s like all that masculinity, muscles, hair, their size...” Gina trails off with a grin. “You get where I’m going.”

“Well yeah,” Clarke says, “I totally get that. Raven and I agree, we’re both into guys who’ve got a bit of the alpha male vibe.”

“The perfect way to describe it,” Gina nods. “Yeah, that just gets me going.”

“I totally called it with you and Bellamy,” Raven says, smugly. “I knew he would be your type.”

“He is!” Gina actually blushes, which is charming on the apples of her cheeks. “No, he totally is. And he’s actually a sweetheart, which I was not expecting after we first hooked up.”

“Yeah, you said he was really drunk, right?” Raven asks and Gina rolls her eyes.

“Like, Drinking To Forget levels of drunk. When we made out on New Year’s Eve, it made me think it was less about me and more about the nearest warm body, but.” Gina shrugs. “Like I said, he’s a sweetie, once I got to know him.”

“Tell us about the sex,” Raven demands, winking at Clarke across the table. “Apparently Clarke’s last guy she hooked up with was pretty lame, I’m sure she’d like to hear about it.”

“Uh-” Clarke starts but Raven kicks her under the table so Clarke bites back her protest and smiles tightly at Gina. 

“It’s honestly pretty great,” Gina says with a smile. “He’s really attentive. Kind of quiet, but I’m ok with that. Always good to have goals.”

“Quiet, really?” Clarke asks before she can stop herself and when Raven glances at her, she shrugs. “I always pegged Bellamy for running his mouth, he just seems like the type.”

“I mean, sometimes.” Gina shrugs, tracing the rim of her mimosa. “You know, he’ll tell me I’m gorgeous, tells me when he likes something, ask if I like what we’re doing, but nothing like really dirty, you know?”

“Same with me, when we hooked up,” Raven says, shrugging. “You could probably teach him though, he seems trainable.”

“Yeah. As I said, it’s good to have goals.” 

After brunch they wander around U Street. Clarke mostly browses while Gina and Raven find new crop tops and maxi skirts. While they’re in the changing rooms, Clarke finds a faux leather jacket that has an unnecessary number of zippered pockets and it’s just weird enough that she buys it for herself. Raven catcalls her when she emerges from her fitting room and sets about unzipping every single one.

**

Clarke’s expecting it, but when she hears her message notification on her phone go and it’s from Bellamy, something like relief washes through her. She had deleted their old texting thread about a halfway through January and it honestly feels like a new beginning to have their new thread started. All Bellamy’s written is, _Coffee today? My productivity is tragic._

 _Name the place,_ Clarke shoots back. She’s worked the early shift at the clinic and only just gotten home, hair a mess and smelling like antiseptic. She showers quickly and when she gets out Bellamy’s sent her two messages, the name of the shop and then, ten minutes later, a blurry picture he’s snapped of a large espresso machine. 

When Clarke arrives half an hour later she finds the shop itself is bright and busy, loud in a way that she remembers distinctly from the coffee shops on her campus when she was in undergrad and she and Octavia would spend afternoons camped out at small cramped tables, wearing too many layers and drinking too much caffeine to properly concentrate. 

This little shop has cheery little stringed lights hung around it’s muted red and gold decor and smells deliciously of ground coffee and baked goods. Bellamy is tucked away in a corner at a small table that has cardboard shoved under one of it’s legs to keep it balanced. He looks up when she sets her things down on the chair across from him and smiles at her, pushes his headphones back off his head.

“Hey, you made it.”

“This is such a cute spot, and good music too.” Clarke tilts her chin up toward the speaker that’s spitting out Alt-J and Bellamy cocks his head at her, listening.

“Didn’t know you liked this band,” he says with an odd expression. 

Clarke nods absently, digging out her wallet. “Yeah, love them. Probably my favorite band currently. Well, I really like Banks, too.” When she catches Bellamy studying her, she pauses. “What?”

“I just… I’m realizing that I didn’t know that about you. Your music tastes, I mean.”

“There are still things you don’t know about me,” Clarke teases him lightly and a smile tugs at Bellamy’s mouth. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Definitely. I’m a mystery, remember?” The words are out of her mouth before she thinks them through, and Bellamy’s bitterness when he had called her that on Octavia’s stairs is suddenly sharp between them and they both falter for a moment. Bellamy’s face goes blank and Clarke bites her lip. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” she says quietly.

“No, I know,” Bellamy says and shakes his head. “Hey, can we just agree that this isn’t going to be easy? That we’re going to kick up stuff we don’t mean to and we can just acknowledge it sucks and try to move past it?”

“Yeah, I mean, we just gotta at some point right? But… if there are still things you want to talk about, I can do that too.”

Bellamy nods and sighs. “Same here. Clarke, when I said that-”

“You were hurt and confused. It’s ok, I know, Bellamy.”

“Clarke,” Bellamy says gently and Clarke stops, waits. Bellamy frowns at the table. “That night… I _was_ trying to hurt you. I mean, I spent two months thinking you knew that I… I had been in love with you, and that you wanted nothing to do with me. That you could write me off so lightly felt like shit. But that doesn’t excuse what I said to you.” His frown deepens and Clarke can see a fine tremor in his hands where they rest on the table in front of him. This isn’t easy for him. “Any of what I said to you.”

“I wanted to hurt you too,” Clarke says. “I don’t know what that says about us as people, but Bellamy?” He looks up at her, dark eyes pained under his furrowed brow. “I forgive you. I know that doesn’t make everything ok between us, that it’s not a quick fix to any of this, but... I understand what you were feeling, and it was ugly and terrible and it probably made you feel just as awful. So, if you need forgiveness? I’ll give that to you. You’re forgiven,” she says again. Bellamy shakes his head just a bit as he looks at her and then he looks down at the table. 

“Thank you,” he says, soft and gentle. 

“Hey, you’re welcome,” Clarke says and taps lightly on the top of his laptop. “Are you ok if I go get coffee now? Not going to feel abandoned?” And it’s a little mean but it makes Bellamy laugh in surprise and he looks up at her, biting back a smile

“Yeah, go on. I think I can manage on my own for a few minutes.”

“That’s a relief.” Clarke ribs him. Her coffee turns out to be a Macchiato and when she brings it back to the table Bellamy gives it a look of horror and refuses to try it, protesting the lack of both milk and sugar. 

“It’s foamed milk on the top,” Clarke points out and Bellamy shakes his head like she just told him aliens built the pyramids.

“That’s your prefered drink at a coffee shop? That?” Bellamy asks skeptically and Clarke shrugs.

“Sure, I like the taste of it.” Bellamy raises his eyebrows but nods. “What?” Clarke asks.

“I’m just making a mental list,” Bellamy tells her, picking _Catullus_ up (Clarke can’t believe she’s missed his Catullus book) “All the Things Clarke Griffin Likes That I Didn’t Know About.”

“What purpose could that possibly serve?” Clarke asks as she pulls out her textbook and opens it to the first chapter. 

Bellamy props his chin in his hand and smirks at her. “I just figure as your friend, I should know your favorite things.”

Clarke raises her eyebrows but doesn’t look up from the paragraph she’s reading. “Nerd.”

It slowly becomes their thing again. It’s not as frequent as when they met at Clarke’s apartment, and they never linger as long together, but it’s good. It’s more than that. Without the need to perform under anyone’s watchful eyes, they slowly relearn what it’s like to be friends. They relearn each other’s rhythms, they learn what it is to laugh again, what it’s like to talk about things that aren’t related to their feelings: one afternoon they get absolutely zero work done because they get drawn into a discussion on politics, agreeing with each other on every point they make but too keyed up to stop debating. They learn how to have petty arguments about Bellamy being late or Clarke taking up too much space on the small table they share. Harmless things they can snip at each other about, roll their eyes over, feel justified in being annoyed and five minutes later know that they’re still good; they’re still friends. 

Clarke realizes they never got to do this before, just talk about whatever came into their heads. They talked, sure, but their intimacy had stemmed from their physical connection and the vulnerability they had found safety in expressing to one another because of their natural chemistry. They had fallen in love with the big aspects of each other. She didn’t know any of the fine details of Bellamy, like his favorite books, or that he likes chocolate cake so much that when the coffee shop they meet in offers it, he usually goes back for a second slice. She hadn’t told Bellamy about listening to Fleet Foxes basically on repeat, interlaced with Ke$ha, her entire senior year of High School; or that in college she had once broken into the swimming pool after hours to skinny dip with Finn. 

There’s a light that comes back to Bellamy’s eyes, warm and fond when he looks at Clarke, and Clarke knows her own smile gets easier when she’s teasing Bellamy across their small table and he’s trying hard not to laugh at her antics. 

It gets easier around their friends as well. What took an exhausting amount of effort at first now feels like the easiest thing in the world. Clarke can lean over the back of the couch that Bellamy’s sitting on and chat with him, she can make fun of him during beer pong tournaments; at trivia nights, Clarke finds she instinctively knows when Bellamy’s going to know an answer to a question, and more often than not, will come up with an answer and find Bellamy’s eyes already on her, expectant. 

Because there’s no secret between them anymore, their affection for each other isn’t something they try to hide from their friends. Clarke tells Octavia and Raven about the long afternoons she spends with Bellamy working in the coffee shop and the natural way they complement each other fits smoothly into their dynamic with the rest of the group in a way they never allowed it to when they had been hooking up. 

“You guys are weird,” Octavia tells her one night at Monroe’s when Clarke throws popcorn at Bellamy for talking to Miller over the movie until he takes the bowl forcefully away from her and keeps her from kicking him by leaning back hard against her legs.

“What’s that?” Clarke asks, distracted.

“You and Bel, I mean I know you guys have a weird friendship, hell I never thought you were going to be friends when you first met, but still. You guys go through phases of friendship, don’t you?”

“I guess,” Clarke says carefully with a shrug. “I guess we just go through cycles of bugging each other and getting along. Everyone does.”

“Clarke, shut up,” Bellamy says, throwing a kernel of popcorn over his shoulder with an annoying amount of accuracy so that it bounces off her forehead. “I’m trying to watch the movie.”

From where her head is pillowed on Bellamy’s shoulder, Gina looks up at Bellamy, and Clarke can’t read the expression on her face.

**

One of Lincoln’s artists pulls out at the last second, only a week before Lincoln’s show is due to open. Clarke has never quite seen Lincoln as upset as he is when he gets off the phone. She’s at the front counter, chatting with a tourist couple who have wandered in to get out of the rain when she hears a crash in the Lincoln’s workshop and she smiles lightly at them. 

“Excuse me,” she says and when she pokes her head back she finds Lincoln’s chucked a piece of scrap metal across the room into one of his sculptures. 

“Seriously,” Clarke tells Bellamy, scraping her rain soaked hair off her forehead and shrugging her drenched raincoat off her shoulders to gingerly hang it on the back of her chair. “I’ve never seen Lincoln lose his cool like that. Oh, thanks,” Clarke says as Bellamy slides a scone across the table to her. It’s lavender and vanilla, her favorite, and when she glances at the pastry case she sees there aren’t any left.

“It was the last one,” Bellamy says, following her glance. “Didn’t want you to miss it. So, the artist?” He prompts.

“Got offered a spot in a better known gallery in New York next month, and wanted to put the work he promised us there. And Lincoln never made him sign a contract.” She nods when Bellamy winces. “Yeah, it’s definitely a reality check. Lincoln thought he was doing this guy a favor.”

“So how does that affect the show?” Bellamy asks her, putting his book down on the table and leaning back to consider her.

“It’s not good,” Clarke says honestly. When she takes a bite of scone she realizes how hungry she was, takes another bite too quickly and chokes a bit of the dry crumb of it. Bellamy passes her his glass of water without comment. 

“Like, how bad ‘not good’?” 

“Well,” Clarke says considering, propping her elbows on the table. “The guy had several big pieces and the way Lincoln has been setting it up it’s going to leave the layout pretty unbalanced. Lincoln’s scrambling to find another artist but…”

“What’s the theme of it again?” Bellamy asks as Clarke begins to unpack her bag.

“‘ _Home in the 21st Century City’,_ ” Clarke recites. “Lincoln’s trying to capture what makes spaces familiar and special to us, how a city can be all of our homes but in different ways.”

“Huh,” Bellamy says and then nods to himself. “A pretty broad theme. While being surprisingly specific.”

“Yeah, he has a few leads right now for possible fillers but he’s not very hopeful. He thinks that he’s going to have to delay the opening by at least a month, which is fine, but with all the promotion he’s been doing…”

“Yeah,” Bellamy agrees. “Not good.”

“Well, I’m grabbing my coffee. You want a refill?” Clarke offers as she pulls her wallet out of her bag and Bellamy’s mouth quirks up at her offer and he nods. 

“Thanks.”

Clarke comes back with a black coffee for herself and an overly sugared latte for Bellamy, who’s found he likes espresso as much as his white coffee. She also buys them a little pot pie to split since it’s getting close to dinner time and they’ve both got a few hours of work ahead of them. Bellamy shuffles his papers and computer out of the way and they talk about his class from the morning as they pick at the pastry puff between them.

“By the way, I finally watched The Breakfast Club,” Bellamy informs her and Clarke lights up. 

“Did you love it?” Clarke asks, nudging his foot under the table. “You did, didn’t you? I was totally right.”

“It was good,” Bellamy admits grudgingly. 

“Bellamy, it’s like the most classic ‘80s movie, really captures the decade. It’s better than good, it’s amazing.”

“You weren’t even alive in the ‘80s, how would you know?” Bellamy grumbles. “I lived through that shit, Clarke.”

“You were three in 1990,” Clarke snorts. “You don’t know any better than I do.”

He grins at that, eyes on the downcast, caught out. “Yeah, yeah alright. Did you watch the link I sent you?”

Clarke bites back her smile. “The one about women and medicine in Medieval Europe? It was awesome.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy huffs and tousles his hair. “It made me think of you.”

“Because I’m likely to get burned at the stake for practicing herbal remedies?” Clarke deadpans and Bellamy does laugh at that, surprised and bright.

“Yes, exactly that, Clarke. Glad you correctly interpreted my warning.”

“I took it to heart.” Clarke assures him and they grin at each other. 

They set aside their plates and Clarke unplugs Bellamy’s headphones from his computer and into her headphone splitter. They trade off who picks the music to study and she settles on Radical Face, turning it way down low, enough that they can chat if they want but it still offers white noise from the rest of the conversations around them. 

“Hey,” Bellamy says after they work for another hour or so, tapping his pencil against Clarke’s hand lightly. She looks up expectantly at him. “What if you jumped in for Lincoln?” At Clarke’s lifted eyebrows he pushes on. “I know you think it’s out of your league, but you’re really good Clarke. And you draw us. Your friends, I mean. And the city. Your work already fits his theme.”

Clarke frowns and looks at her hands. “Maybe, but-”

“But what have you got to lose?” Bellamy asks her, actually taking his headphones off so Clarke knows he’s serious. “Clarke, your work is amazing. And Lincoln needs someone as soon as yesterday, right? Why not, huh?”

Clarke looks up at him and there’s so much sincerity and belief in his eyes that she believes him. The idea of pushing her work on Lincoln is intimidating, feels like she’s taking advantage of her friendship with him to promote her own work, but the way Bellamy lays it out for her makes sense. “I guess I could ask him,” Clarke muses and Bellamy nods, a smile touching his eyes. “I haven’t prepared a portfolio though.”

“Do you have your sketchpad with you?” Bellamy asks and Clarke does, she’s gone back to sketching again and it feels good to once more have the creativity right at her fingertips. She pulls it out and hands it to Bellamy without question when he extends his hand.

“God, Clarke, any of these,” he says after a moment, smiling as he flips through the pages. “Well maybe not…” he’s flipped to the page that has the picture of him, shirtless and jeans unzipped, hair sex-mussed and a lazy, indulgent expression on his face. “Huh.”

“Oh, yeah. I… do you want me to get rid of that one?” Clarke asks softly and Bellamy clears his throat, shakes his head. 

“No, of course not. It’s good. Just maybe… maybe not put it in a public show right now.”

“I wouldn’t,” Clarke says, a conviction in her voice that surprises her. That picture is private, she realizes. It had never been intended for anyone else to see, but even more so now, it’s a timestamp that captures a gentle, vulnerable moment between them. She knows, or at least she thinks she does, how much that evening between them meant to Bellamy- he had quoted their conversation back to her in the love letter he had written her. The love letter she’s lost and is almost glad is gone: would be too painful to read even after their friendship has been mended. This picture is too raw for either of them to look at too long, let alone their friends who will never know what they had.

“Not that one,” she confirms and Bellamy nods, gives it one last lingering look before turning the page. 

“But the, uh, the one of Octavia? And you’ve got those few of Raven and Monty, those are nice. And this one-” he taps the drawing of him at her dining room table, the likeness of him on the page fighting back a smile as she took too long to draw him for his liking. That one is safe, it’s just Bellamy. “These could all work. And you said this paper is the really good kind, right? You could just, I don’t know, frame them?”

Clarke nods, he’s right. If Lincoln likes them, it wouldn’t take much to get them ready for a show on short notice. “I’ll call him,” she says and Bellamy raises his eyebrows until she digs out her phone and does, right there at the table. 

Lincoln actually sounds like he might cry when Clarke tentatively pitches the idea to him and asks her to bring the pieces she’s thinking about over to the studio in the morning before her shift at the clinic. “Clarke, you are fucking amazing,” Lincoln breathes into the phone.

“Really, it’s no problem,” she laughs, pleased and a little embarrassed, and then makes Lincoln promise to go home because she knows he’s still at the studio. 

“See,” Bellamy says a little smug as she gets off the phone. “Told you.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re brilliant and saved the day.”

“That’s all I wanted to hear you say,” Bellamy admits and they smirk at each other. On the table, Bellamy’s phone buzzes and he looks down. “Oh, Gina’s going to swing by, say hey,” he tells her as he types a quick reply back. 

“Oh good,” Clarke says. “Is she on her way to work?”

“Just taking a break, I think,” Bellamy tells her, a smile touching his mouth when his phone vibrates again. “She works the afternoon and evening shift sometimes.”

“Damn,” Clarke sighs. “That’s a lot. Hard working lady.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy agrees. “She’s pretty impressive.”

Gina joins them shortly, pulls up a chair to their table and Bellamy buys her a fancy tea drink. Clarke puts away her notes and they laugh about Gina’s bar stories. Gina is demonstrative in her affection, she keeps a hand on Bellamy’s thigh and Clarke notices the way her thumb traces possessively along the seam of his jean leg. Bellamy smiles lightly at her while she talks, chuckles when she does. He contributes less to their conversation when it’s just between him and Gina, but it’s a dynamic that seems to work between them. Gina bubbles and Bellamy softly responds. 

Clarke ends up recounting their trip to the Oktoberfest back in October when she and Gina get into it on different types of beer, and Bellamy contributes to her retelling. He and Clarke trade off detailing the food, the number of different beers they tried, Miller’s German accent which still cracks Bellamy up when Clarke reminds him of it, and the way Murphy ended up doing a weird version of The Wobble to volksmusik. 

“I can’t believe you haven’t told me about that before,” Gina chides Bellamy lightly. “Sounds like it was amazing.”

Bellamy shrugs. “I guess it just never came up.” 

Clarke rolls her eyes at Gina. “He’s a little socially stunted.”

“Hey,” Bellamy laughs. “Fuck you, Clarke. I am not.”

“You are,” Clarke informs him, teasingly. “Put a cool, pretty girl in front of you and get a little stupid. Admit it.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes good naturedly. “Right, and you don’t?”

“Nah,” Clarke says with a smirk. “I’ve got game, Blake.”

Bellamy’s mouth quirks up and she realizes suddenly that he knows that first hand. 

Gina looks between them with a tentative smile. “Well I guess you have to brush up on those socializing skills before Anya’s wedding, Bel.”

Clarke glances at Bellamy inquisitively. “Old ROTC friend,” Bellamy says by way of explanation. “Haven’t seen her since I got out, but she’s getting married next month.”

“What did she call it on the invitation, Bellamy?” Gina asks.

“A Unity Day Celebration,” Bellamy says rolling his eyes and Clarke can’t help but laugh.

“Oh I bet you’re really excited about that,” she teases him.

“I just don’t get why you can’t call it a wedding,” Bellamy scoffs as Clarke knew he would. He’s too much of an old man to catch on to the custom wedding trend. 

“You know you’re going to love it,” Clarke says and glances at Gina conspiratorily. “He’ll probably cry during the ceremony and give a really heartfelt, impromptu drunken speech.”

“Cup of cofee says I won’t,” Bellamy bets her and Clarke smirks.

“You’re on. Gina, you’ll tell me if he cries, right? Better yet, snapchat me.”

“You’ve made it your life mission to collect every embarrassing fact about me, haven’t you?” Bellamy asks Clarke and she nods sagely.

“You’re damn right I have. What else are friends for?”

“Maybe not embarrassing me in front of my girlfriend?” Bellamy offers and Clarke shakes her head.

“Nah, too easy. Your sister doesn’t do it enough and someone has to. Gina, has Bellamy ever told you about Octavia’s pink beanbag chair?”

“And that’s enough from you, Clarke,” Bellamy says with a finality that his grin doesn’t back up. “You want to go for a walk, babe? The weather clear up?”

“Oh, sure,” Gina says . “Yeah, it’s stopped raining.” She stands slowly as Bellamy scoots back his chair and returns Clarke’s funny face by sticking out his tongue.

“Gina, I’ll just have to fill you in another time,” Clarke says and ignores Bellamy’s protest.

“I’m sure there’s a lot you can tell me,” Gina says, her tone a little off, but Clarke’s not sure why.

“Knowledge every girlfriend should definitely have,” Clarke says, smiling at her. “I hope your evening shift goes alright.”

Gina nods. “Thanks, Clarke. The offer still stands for a drink at the bar, by the way.”

“I’ll definitely take you up on that soon,” Clarke promises. 

“Don’t do anything weird to my stuff,” Bellamy says and Clarke shrugs.

“I really can’t make any promises.”

Clarke watches them leave the shop, Gina taking Bellamy’s hand right before they step outside and pressing a kiss to his fingers like a question. 

**

The final few days before Lincoln’s show opens are a total frenzy. Clarke still has her shifts at the clinic, but she works with Lincoln every spare moment she has to get everything installed in his gallery. They close down their open hours and cover the windows as they work, play music too loudly and rethink the layout several times in order to fit Clarke’s work in more cohesively. They find beautiful frames to mount Clarke’s sketches, and when Octavia gets off at five she brings them pizza and sits on the counter, kicks her heels and steals kisses from Lincoln when he walks past her. 

The other artists turn up on the last night before the opening and they have a small party: a little bit of champagne and someone produces a joint and they pass it around with the windows cracked. The assemblage of the variety of art is amazing, charcoals next to water colors, oils hung between sculptures, and when Clarke considers her simple pencil drawn and shaded sketches, they fit in easily. They look right in show: they look like they belong. 

The opening itself goes off without a hitch. Clarke makes it with time to spare after a quick shower at her place and doing her hair up into a fancy braid wrapped around her head. Not only do her friends and Lincoln’s show up, but people who aren’t affiliated with any of the artists come from across the city. Lincoln slings an arm around her companionably and presses a kiss to her temple. 

“Clarke, this is better than I imagined.”

“Turned out pretty good, didn’t it?” Clarke asks with a grin and he nods.

“Perfectly. I’m glad that dick Cage took his art off to New York. Yours is exactly what I wanted. Thank you for offering it.”

“I had some encouragement,” Clarke admits just as she spots Bellamy, Octavia and Gina arrive, groomed and dressed up for the occasion. The three of them join Clarke and Lincoln, and Octavia makes a toast in their honor, which to no one’s surprise includes a lot of unnecessary vulgarity. Gina gives them both a hug and Bellamy beams when he sees Clarke’s art hanging up.

“It looks great,” he tells her softly, lingering with her in front of one of Octavia and Raven curled together on Octavia’s couch in her old apartment. “Seriously, I knew it would, but.”

“I know what you mean,” Clarke admits and looks up at him. “It’s crazy to me that it’s actually happening.”

“Clarke, you’re an artist with a capital ‘A’.” Bellamy teases her, and nudges his shoulder against hers. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Clarke says. “But don’t worry, when I’m famous and making millions off of sketches of Spanish bulls, I’ll remember you.”

“Yeah?” Bellamy asks laughing. “I thought this wasn’t a professional undertaking.”

“Oh it’s not, but now that I’ve been catapulted into fame quite against my own will, I can hardly deny my public.”

“No,” Bellamy laughs and smiles at her, fond. “That would be too cruel.”

“Hey, thanks though.” Clarke squeezes his hand very quickly where it hangs at his side. “Seriously, if you hadn’t pushed me, I wouldn’t have done this. And Lincoln would be a mess. So, thanks. You’re kind of a life saver, Bellamy.”

Bellamy ducks his head, shy, a little flush on his cheeks. “Well… huh.” Bellamy mumbles. And then, “And I thought you said my ego didn’t need any help.”

“This is a very rare exception to the rule,” Clarke assures him and smiles when he rolls his eyes. “Alright, go find Gina, I need to schmooze.” She bats at him lightly.

“Christ, you’re demanding,” Bellamy laughs. “Schmooze away.” He leaves her to wander and chat with other people who have come to the gallery. She meets Emori, Murphy’s “Main Squeeze” as she introduces herself to Clarke. She’s loud and abrasively witty and Clarke can see why she gets along with Murphy so well. Maya and Jasper are poised in front of one of the oil paintings, Maya gushing to Jasper about the artist’s clear emulation of a famous painter that Clarke is big enough to admit she’s never heard of. She catches Octavia and Lincoln sneaking out from the back, only slightly sex rumpled and she rolls her eyes at them.

She finds Gina, alone, standing in front of the portrait of Bellamy. “Hey,” Clarke says, stopping next to her. “Your champagne’s low, can I get you another one?”

“Hey, Clarke.” Gina smiles at her, but it’s a little tight. “That’s ok, I’m probably good.” She gestures to the picture of Bellamy. “You did this?”

“Yeah,” Clarke says, and glances at the portrait. “One of our study dates.”

“It’s really good,” Gina says. “Really, it’s Bellamy through and through.”

“Oh, thank you.” Clarke says. “It means a lot to me that you like it.”

“I do,” Gina turns back and looks at the sketch again, and there’s a wistfulness in her expression that’s unexpected. “It’s clear you know Bellamy very well,” she says softly.

Clarke shrugs, not quite sure what to say in response. “He’s a good friend,” she settles on finally. “I think you’re really good for him.”

Gina considers her with an odd expression and then nods a bit. “That’s sweet of you to say, Clarke.” She hugs Clarke suddenly, and then steps back just as quickly but Clarke can get over her surprise to hug her back. “I’m so happy I got to see this. Your art is beautiful and it deserves to be celebrated.”

“Thank you,” Clarke says because she doesn’t know what else to say and Gina nods once before she turns to consider the next piece of art. 

The gallery closes at eleven pm, but Lincoln and Octavia have opened their apartment for an afterparty for all the artists and their friends, and Clarke finds herself perched on their balcony, which is considerably larger than Monty and Jasper’s, drinking a beer with Nyko and swapping premed horror stories. The party is loud and there’s indie EDM thumping softly from the sound system. Clarke has swapped her high heels for flats and is about to crack open another beer when Octavia ducks her head out frowning.

“What’s up?” Clarke asks. 

“You haven’t seen Bellamy or Gina, have you?” Octavia asks and when Clarke shakes her head Octavia holds up a pretty purple scarf Clarke recognizes as Gina’s. “I just saw them with their coats on and I didn’t want Gina to lose this in everyone’s things. They didn’t leave did they?”

“Maybe they went for a walk?” Clarke asks and when Octavia looks skeptical Clarke holds out her hand. “Let me see if I can catch them. If not we can just keep it for her.”

“Thanks, babe.” Octavia says and ducks back into the party. Clarke smiles apologetically at Nyko who waves her on. 

After the noise of the party, the music and the chatter of Lincoln’s friends, the hallway is eerily silent. Clarke starts down the stairs from Lincoln and Octavia’s apartment, footsteps muffled by her flats, and buzzed enough that when she hears the soft voices in the stairwell below her she stops to try to make out what they’re saying. When she recognizes them as Bellamy and Gina’s voices, his soft and sad, her’s resigned but firm, Clarke panics and sits down on the stairs, out of sight, rather than backtrack up stairs and let them know they’d been overheard.

“Gina,” Bellamy’s saying, “I don’t want it end like this. I really like you.”

“I know,” Gina says quietly. “But you’re not going to fall in love with me.”

“Why would you say that?” Bellamy asks, voice rough. “I like being with you. You make me happy. Do I not make you happy?”

“You do, Bell,” Gina says, her voice soft and soothing. “I like being with you too.”

“Then let’s keep going,” Bellamy pleads gently. “We’re great together.”

“We have fun, Bellamy. I’m not denying that. But… I don’t think we work. Not the way things are right now.”

“Tell me why,” Bellamy says, his voice helpless and desperate and Clarke clasps her hands between her legs, biting her lip. She hates hearing Bellamy’s voice like that. Hates hearing him upset.

“It’s…” Gina starts and then trails off. “Try this: tell me how I make you feel.”

“I feel good around you,” Bellamy says instantly. “I feel… safe. You make me feel safe. And it’s so simple between us. We don’t have to try.”

“Yeah,” Gina says and for the first time there’s emotion in her voice, heartbreak. “And that’s good. But that’s all there is between us. You don’t look at me the way you… You don’t look at me the way I want you to. And I… I want you to want to try for us.”

“I’m trying for us right now!” Bellamy pleads and Clarke hears Gina sigh, slow and sad. 

“Bellamy, when you picture yourself in, I don’t know, a year. Five years. Am I the person you’re with? No, think about it for a minute. Am I?”

There’s a long, painful silence and then Bellamy sighs. “I don’t want this to be the end for us.”

“I wish it weren’t. But, Bel, I want to be with someone who only wants to be with me. I hate the thought of being second to someone else.”

“You’re not,” Bellamy says softly. “Gina, you’re not.”

“Maybe not yet,” Gina says. “But it’s only a matter of time. Come here.” There’s a soft rustle of fabric and Bellamy’s shaky exhale. “You are so good,” Gina says gently. “And you only deserve the world. I’ll miss you, Bellamy Blake.”

“Take- take care of yourself, Gina Martin.” Bellamy’s voice breaks as he says it and there’s another moment of silence before there are soft footsteps on the stairs, one set only, winding down the flights and growing fainter. The front door closing echos up the stairwell and still Clarke hasn’t heard Bellamy move. 

Clarke stands shakily and walks down the flight and a half of stairs to find Bellamy sitting with his back to her on the steps, head bent forward. “Hey,” Clarke says gently. “Are you ok?” Bellamy looks up at her, his eyes a bit red and he shrugs. 

“Guess you heard all that,” he says gruffly. 

“Sorry,” Clarke says and sits down next to him. “I was trying to return Gina’s scarf, but…” she trails off and then sets it on the other side of her on the step and leans forward to rest her forarms on her knees. “I’m guessing she’s ok without it.” He forces a chuckle and then ducks his head and covers his mouth with his hand. 

Clarke lets him sit in silence, not sure how to help but not wanting to leave him alone. He’s hunched in on himself, shoulders drawn in and his flop of messy curls shadow his eyes. He sighs finally and scrubs his hand over his face. “Jesus. Do I suck as a boyfriend? When we were… when we were hanging out, did I make you feel like that?” He glances at her quickly and Clarke ducks her head to make sure she holds his gaze.

“No, Bellamy,” she says sincerely, shaking her head. “No. You were always good to me.” Bellamy shrugs like he doesn’t believe it and Clarke can’t stand that he doubts himself, because Bellamy tries so hard to be good to the people around him that when he fails, however inadvertently, he takes it as a sign of his inadequacy. She reaches out and touches his arm. “I’m serious,” she says gently. “You were great.”

There’s a long moment of silence and then Bellamy, a little brokenly, says, “Not always.”

“But neither was I to you,” Clarke reminds him. “But our fall out? That has nothing to do with Gina.”

“I don’t know, Clarke. What if it’s just that I’m not a relationship person? I thought… I thought after you, it was what I wanted. That it would feel good to… you know, love someone. That I might be good at it. But what if I’m not enough?”

“Hey, getting dumped doesn’t mean that you can’t do relationships. It just means you weren’t with the right person. But you made Gina happy. I saw you guys together, it was good. She just wanted something more than you could give her, ultimately. That’s the way it works sometimes. It’s not a reflection on you.”

Bellamy nods but he’s still squinting at his hands and Clarke presses her lips together as she looks at him. “Bellamy?” She waits until he looks up at her expectantly. “You are, you know.”

“I am what, Clarke?”

“You’re enough.” 

He blinks at her and Clarke presses on. “You’re going to find someone who needs exactly what you can give, and gives you exactly what you need. And this shit? It all comes out in the wash.”

Bellamy smiles a bit, just a tug on the corner of his mouth but it warms his eyes as well. “Promise?”

“Promise. Or so I’m told, anyway. This is all your sister’s ideology. Clearly hasn’t worked out for me yet.” She leans over and gently bumps her shoulder against his.

Bellamy does smile at that and shakes his head, exhaling. “Alright, Clarke.” He sways towards her a bit and Clarke puts her arm around his shoulders, lets him lean into her side. She rubs his arm with the flat of her palm and bumps her chin into his temple: not quite a kiss but affectionate, comforting. He sighs slowly and stays leaning against her and Clarke lets him. The hallway is a little chilly but he’s warm and big against her and there’s a rightness in their proximity.

“Want to come back into Octavia’s or do you want to go home?” She asks him gently after a few minutes have passed.

“Can I get really drunk at O’s?” Bellamy asks her, leaning back just far enough that he can look at her.

“As far as I know, there’s still a ton of beer and rum. And I brought weed. How fucked up do you want to get?”

“Pretty fucked up,” Bellamy admits with a choked, sad laugh.

“Your wish is my command. But only this once, because you got dumped.” She stands and Bellamy looks up at her, head tilting way back to look up the line of her body, eyes trusting. She smiles gently down at him and very gently brushes his curls from his forehead before she offers him her hand. He takes it and pulls himself up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "No matter how long the winter, spring is sure to follow."
> 
> I am on tumblr making inane comments about bellarke in all my posts' tags. Come [chill~](verbam.tumblr.com)


	8. Movement and Location

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penultimate chapter, y'all. 
> 
> To everyone who has been leaving comments and kudos, you are all so amazing and wonderful. Thank you for your support, your feedback and your thoughts. As always, I love, love, love to know what you're thinking and it's such a delight to get those notifications. So seriously, thank you <3
> 
> My beta is cetaprincipessa on tumblr, who always has great insight and thoughts.

Bellamy handles being broken up with fairly well. The first week is hard of course, Clarke can see the toll it takes on him: he’s less likely to smile, a little quieter when they hang out with their friends, but he tries to not make a big deal about it. When their friends ask, he shrugs and gives them truth as far as Clarke can tell: that he and Gina were in different places and weren’t meeting each other’s needs. Clarke watches him carefully and notes the way his mouth turns down when no one else is watching him, the way he gets lost in thought in the midst of a larger conversation.

Their first study date after it happens, Bellamy is unusually quiet around her and Clarke lets him be. She hands him the headphone splitter and he choses a pandora station of Bob Dylan and stares a lot at his computer without actually typing anything. 

“Hey,” Clarke says finally. “Let’s not do this today.”

“What’s up?” Bellamy asks, not really listening and Clarke reaches over and closes his laptop. He just slides his fingers off the keys and lets her. The music cuts off abruptly and the sound of the coffee shop swells around them. Bellamy looks at her, a little lost, a little uncertain.

“Have you eaten your feelings about this yet?” Clarke asks him and Bellamy chuckles a little and shakes his head. 

“Surprisingly, I’m trying to avoid the whole self-pity thing.”

“Admirable,” Clarke says as she starts packing up her notes. “But honestly? No break up is complete without eating ice cream your friends buy for you. It’s a Blake-Griffin tradition.”

“Clearly more of an Octavia-Clarke tradition,” Bellamy muses. “We’ve never done this.” 

“It can be a Bellamy-Clarke tradition, too. What are friends for?”

“I thought they were for embarrassing me in front of my girlfriend,” Bellamy says and he’s trying to sound tough but honestly it just sounds a little hollow and Clarke reaches out to touch Bellamy’s hand. 

“If I went too far with that,” she starts and Bellamy shakes his head. 

“Nah, you didn’t. I… I like that you know so much about me. Even if you use it to make fun of me sometimes.”

“Well, luckily my knowledge of you can also be used for good. And I happen to know that the ice cream place around the corner has a great Chocolate Cake Batter ice cream going on, so we’d be idiots to not go get some.”

“Ok, Clarke.” Bellamy says like he’s doing her a favor, but he packs his stuff up and Clarke treats him to an extra large ice cream which they end up sharing, perched on the curb outside the shop since it’s just warm enough to and playing eye-spy, at which they both try to cheat.

“Are you ok, though?” Clarke asks eventually, steadying the cup against Bellamy rooting around with his plastic spoon to dig out chunks of dough, incredibly reminiscent of Octavia’s ice cream habits.

Bellamy sighs and puts the entire spoon in his mouth as he thinks. “Yeah,” he says at last. “I mean, I feel shitty, that it didn’t work, you know?” He glances at Clarke and when he sees her watching him he shifts a bit so he can look at her more easily. “And it was good, what we had. I believe that. But, I suppose as break ups go… I’m not as wrecked as I was with us,” he says, dropping his eyes and making a vague gesture between him and Clarke. “And that’s what I feel bad about mostly. I feel like I owe Gina more.”

Clarke hmms sympathetically and takes another bite of ice cream. “Different kind of break up,” Clarke says quietly and Bellamy nods. 

“Yeah. And this time I have you,” Bellamy says, spearing his spoon back in the ice cream and leaning back to brace his palms on the cement. “And O and everyone else. Just to have people know what’s going on, it helps in a way.”

“Yeah,” Clarke agrees, setting the bowl of ice cream down between them and tucking her legs to the side so she can swing around to see him better. “That’s why I fully condone the whole ice cream with friends thing. It can help just to talk about it, know that you’re not alone. ‘Cause you’re not, you know?”

Bellamy looks at her a long moment, head cocked back just a bit. “I know I’m not. Not anymore.”

Clarke smiles at him slowly and nudges him with her knee. “You know what else?”

“What?” Bellamy asks, nudging her back.

“I spy with my little eye,” Clarke starts and Bellamy laughs at her. By the time the sun starts to set, Bellamy’s got a smudge of chocolate ice cream by his mouth and there’s a lightness in his laughter that Clarke can tell is genuine. Yeah, he’s going to be ok.

Octavia still goes into full on Protective Sister mode. It’s not so much mothering as it is bullying when it comes down to her and Bellamy, but most of Octavia’s affection toward him has always presented in that way. Clarke thinks Bellamy likes it, secretly, since he complains about it to Octavia’s face but lets her make his drinks at parties or comes along with minimal complaint when Octavia insists he come out with her and Clarke for brunch. 

It’s not really shocking, then, that Octavia’s the cause when Bellamy fidgets uncomfortably through half of their study date several weeks after Gina’s broke up with him. They’ve traded their work, Bellamy making flashcards for Clarke from her notes and Clarke proof reading the latest chapter of his dissertation. When Clarke finally gets irritated enough by his fidgeting to step on his foot that’s tapping against the table leg and snaps _What Bellamy?_ he admits, “Octavia thinks I should ask you to go with me to Anya’s wedding.”

It takes Clarke by surprise, although it probably shouldn’t. Octavia’s interfered with all of her friends post-breakup, trying to make sure they were always surrounded by other people, occasionally trying to set them up right off the bat. She puts down her pen and studies Bellamy, the way he’s ducked his head, the way he thumbs through the stack of notecards next to him. “Oh,” Clarke says, “why does she think that?”

“She doesn’t want me to be lonely, I think. Well, the phrase she used was ‘mopey and sullen’, but.” Bellamy glances up at Clarke. “She said I should ask you since we already spend so much time together.”

“Makes sense,” Clarke says slowly. And then, “Do you want me to go with you?”

Bellamy shrugs and fidgets again. “I don’t mind going by myself,” he says. 

“No offense, Bellamy,” Clarke says, “But going to a wedding alone after you’ve been broken up with sounds like major suck city.”

Bellamy huffs, but Clarke can see he’s amused. “Yeah, that’s basically what O said, too. I just… I don’t to put you in a weird position.”

“Weird because?” Clarke asks although she thinks she knows.

“Come on, Clarke,” Bellamy says impatiently, “weird because of what we used to be. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable or feel obligated if I asked you to come with me. You’ve already done enough for me.”

“If I did, I would tell you I didn’t want to,” Clarke assures him. “Really Bellamy, you can always ask me and I promise I’ll always tell you the truth, ok?” She reaches out and touches his hand lightly, just rests her fingertips lightly on the back of his hand and Bellamy looks down at where she touches him. “But if you don’t want me to come, I won’t be offended.”

“No, I mean,” Bellamy starts and then stops, takes a breath. “I think it would be nice to have you there. As a friend.”

“Yeah,” Clarke agrees and smiles at him. “As a totally platonic wedding date, I’m your girl.” Bellamy laughs. “Plus,” Clarke says, retracting her hand and searching for the sentence she had stopped in the middle of, “I’m killer at weddings.”

“Oh yeah?” Bellamy snorts and Clarke nods slowly.

“Oh yeah. I’ve got all the dance moves. And I’m an excellent wingwoman if you spot any cuties. Just ask Raven.”

“Huh. Somehow I don’t think I’m going to want you to wingwoman me.”

“Is that where we draw the line?” Clarke asks, looking up with a playful smile. 

“It’s where it just gets a little too strange for me, yeah,” Bellamy chuckles, going back to very neatly writing out some long winded definition from her notes.

“Loser,” Clarke decides and shakes her head at him.

“Of what?” Bellamy asks affronted.

“At being the most chill in our friendship.”

“I hadn’t realized it was a competition,” Bellamy laughs. Clarke grins up at him and the way his hair falls in his eyes, the way his freckles are smattered across his face, the challenging smile twisting his lips up warms her to such an absurd degree she has to look back down, shaking her head.

“Everything’s a competition. You’re too competitive for it not to be.”

“Oh, I’m too competitive?” Bellamy asks, a spark in his eye. “Me?”

“Well I clearly have nothing to do with it,” Clarke says airly and Bellamy snorts.

“Right. We need to work on your self-awareness,” Bellamy decides. “Because I’m definitely the chiller one in this friendship,” he says, completely proving her point. When she looks at him pointedly, he steals a bite of her muffin.

**

“I think we should take a trip,” Octavia announces in that imperious way she sometimes assumes when she thinks she has a good idea. Granted, Clarke thinks as she hands Raven a glass of wine and Raven smiles at her, Octavia has a lot of good ideas. 

“A trip?” Raven asks. “Like ‘we go to Morocco’ trip or ‘we go to the beach on Saturday’ trip?”

“Neither,” Octavia says. “But honestly we should take those trips too. Lincoln and I were looking at Airbnb and there’s this crazy good deal for a cabin up in New Hampshire. It’s huge, four bedrooms, a game room and a lounge with a big fireplace. And like, look…” Octavia snags the laptop off of Clarke’s lap and opens a new window to show them the page she had bookmarked. “It’s right in the middle of the White Mountains, so great for hiking, all that. Bell has a break in his semester at the end of April so we could take a long weekend up there, just get out of D.C. for a while.”

“That looks awesome,” Raven says, leaning hard into Clarke to better see the computer in Octavia’s lap. “I haven’t been hiking in an age.”

“Is your leg ok for it?” Octavia asks her and Raven nods.

“With my brace? Yeah, a trail hike should be fine. No worse for it than dancing is honestly,” Raven says with a little half roll of her shoulders. “Regardless, I miss woodsy air, you know?”

“There’s nothing like it,” Clarke agrees. “I bet we could rent a van, and if Lincoln’s down to take his car that could probably get us up there. It’s, what, like an 8 hour drive? We leave early on a Thursday morning and start back mid afternoon on a Sunday... it’s doable.”

“Lot of driving, but we could take shifts. Jasper’s the only one without a license, right?”

“Yeah, city kid that he is,” Raven snorts. 

“Cool, cool, cool,” Octavia says distractedly as she posts the link to their facebook thread. “This is great, only slightly worse than Cancun, right Clarke?”

“You mean better,” Clarke laughs, “Cancun is nice for beaches but short on friends. Give me a rustic cabin in the woods with you fools any day.”

“Mm, let’s just hope it doesn’t turn into a horror movie,” Raven says, pulling the laptop back into Clarke’s lap so they can resume their sporcle quiz. “Miller and I would be screwed.”

“Fair point. Who do you think would actually make it out alive?” Octavia asks as she reaches over Clarke’s fingers to drag a country to it’s proper place on the map. They’ve chosen a geography quiz since they’re all equally terrible at it. 

“I would have bet on Gina if she was still hanging with us, but honestly… probably Murphy. He’d go to extreme lengths to get himself out alive. Plus, he’s white.”

Clarke snorts and then glances at Raven. “How is Gina?”

“Oh, she’s ok.” Raven points to a random spot on the map for Clarke to try the country she’s just clicked on. “I mean, she’s bummed it didn’t work with Bellamy, but she’s tough. She’ll be alright,” Raven says confidently. “Honestly, the only thing she’ll say about their break up was that it was best thing for the both of them.”

Octavia makes a slightly dubious noise, but Clarke knows that has more to do with anyone potentially hurting Bellamy than any dislike she has of Gina herself. 

“I still can’t get over that Bellamy was with her for as long as he was,” Octavia says as she snuggles closer to Clarke and rests her head against her arm, too lazy to sit up properly. “I know it was only like a month and a half, but I honestly didn’t think he was capable of it, he’s usually so closed off to people.”

“People change,” Raven says slowly. “Maybe he got tired of being on his own. Maybe his biological clock kicked in.”

Octavia laughs. “Maybe, but as much as I love my brother, I don’t think he’s ready for that whole thing. I mean, he’s twenty-nine in two months, and I don’t know if he’s ever been in love.”

 _He has_ , Clarke wants to say, but she can’t because it’s not her place to tell Octavia that anymore, not when she and Bellamy are over and buried in the past. Not when loving Clarke had made Bellamy miserable. He deserves a love that’s openly acknowledged and requited. He deserves someone who isn’t afraid to tell him that they love him, whether or not they know he loves them back. 

“He’ll find someone,” Clarke says instead. “I’m sure of it.”

“Maybe someone at Anya’s wedding? What’s the theme of it again?” Raven asks.

“It’s a ‘Unity Day Celebration’,” Clarke says with air quotes. “From the invitation it looks like a hippie-chic meets military sort of thing. Kind of punk in a flower child way. I don’t know, should be fun.”

“What are you wearing?” Octavia asks and Clarke dutifully pulls up a picture on her phone of the dress she had found. It’s pale blue, fitted and tailored around the bust and ribcage to accentuate her waist and then spilling loose and light down to her feet, airy in it’s quality. “And it’s got this really pretty scooped back,” she adds as she shows Raven and Octavia the selfie she had taken in the fitting room.

“Swank,” Octavia declares.

“Damn Clarke, you’re going to get hit on a lot,” Raven teases her. “Speaking of which, where’s your sex drive been? I haven’t seen you make a move on anyone in weeks! You’re not hooking up with someone again on the sly, are you? Because this time Octavia and I will track them down and make sure you’re getting the orgasms you deserve.”

“No.” Clarke laughs. “No, I promise I’m not. I just haven’t been feeling it, you know?”

Octavia’ presses her hand to Clarke’s forehead in mock concern. “Is it serious? Should I call a doctor?” 

“Deathly,” Clarke deadpans and then presses a kiss to Octavia’s forehead. “Nah, it’s cool. Just a dry spell.”

**

Bellamy’s waiting for her by the Lincoln Memorial as planned, leaning against the white marble in a black leather jacket over his more formal button down shirt and khakis. He’s wearing a tie as well, which for some reason tickles Clarke; she’s never seen him in formal wear before. She tugs on it when she reaches him by way of hello.

“Do this yourself?” She asks and Bellamy grins down at her. The knot is military perfectionism but Bellamy’s tugged it loose, making him look ever so slightly rakish in his slight dishevelment. 

“Does it show?” He asks her.

“I think it fits the theme nicely: handsome but rumpled.”

“Handsome, huh?” Bellamy laughs and touches the light blue fabric of her dress where it’s loose at her waist. “This is nice.” He creases the soft, buttery silk between his fingers and Clarke sees the way his eyes soften. “You look good too.”

“Well, we are at wedding,” Clarke teases him. “I do, on occasion, make an effort.”

“And here I thought you lived in leggings and flannel,” Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Ready?”

“I’m not getting married, right? Not much I need to be ready for.” Clarke says dryly. Bellamy chokes and then shakes his head at her, laughing. 

“You know, I liked when you were mostly just being nice to me,” he tells her as they stroll across the lawn, Bellamy offering her his arm so she can steady herself against her heels sticking in the earth. 

“No you didn’t,” Clarke laughs. “You missed me giving you a hard time.”

“Mm,” Bellamy considers and then grins down at her. “I missed you being you,” he decides, voice light but an undercurrent of raw honesty that makes Clarke squeeze his arm gently.

“I missed being me around you too.” She looks up at him, even in her heels he’s got just an inch or two of height other. “I’m glad we’re here again. With each other, I mean.”

“Me too,” Bellamy says gently. 

It’s a beautiful day, sky a dazzling deep blue and cherry trees tossing their branches in the light breeze. It’s just brisk enough that Clarke is glad for the shawl she’s brought along with her. The ceremony is tucked away at the Tidal Basin. There are tourists all along the walkways, they’re inescapable of course, but under the trees in the area that’s been roped off for the wedding they get some distance.

All the guests are wearing light formal, many women wearing long dresses like Clarke had chosen,but there are several men and women in military uniforms. When Clarke looks up at Bellamy, he just shakes his head. She understands: it’s not him.

The ceremony is simple and elegant. Anya and her partner Gus forgo wedding parties and stand together overlooking the basin. Anya is fierce and beautiful, her smile sharp and voice low and sure as she gives her vows to Gus. She’s not sure if it’s the atmosphere of the wedding, or the fresh air and sunshine now that the winter is finally over, but under the dappled light and the sweet smell of the trees, Clarke feels a bubbling joy she isn’t accustomed to. 

The reception is in a fancy restaurant overlooking the Potomac with a gorgeous open balcony and open bar. They’ve rented out the entire place and more people arrive for the reception than were at the wedding, so it gets crowded and loud with the jovality of the occasion. Bellamy introduces Clarke to Anya, who gives Clarke a once over that walks a fine line between approval and dismissive. She makes Bellamy laugh though, deep and free in a way that Clarke rarely hears so she figures Anya can’t be all too terrifying once she gets to know her.

There’s a group of loud group of men and women around Bellamy’s age at the little table they’ve been placed, and it turns out they’re all from the same ROTC program. Bellamy is at home with them in a different way than he is with his and Clarke’s mutual friends. He’s a little coarser, a little louder and more biting, and Clarke recognizes it as the bravado Bellamy embodied before they had gotten to know each other, before she had learned all that lay underneath, protected by it. 

Clarke almost feels like she’s intruding, not because they leave her out of the conversation, but for all that Bellamy doesn’t identify with the army, he served and depended on the people here around this table, and his bond with them is different. 

When they run low on their drinks, Clarke grabs his glass and hers to get them more, wanting to give Bellamy a moment with his friends. He glances at her as she stands up and she smiles back and bumps his shoulder with his hip. “Be back,” she promises and Bellamy nods.

The bar is crowded, unsurprisingly, and Clarke leans back against it while she waits for the bartender’s attention. She’s watching Anya and Gus laughing at their private table across the filling dance floor when she gets the crawling sensation of eyes on the back of her neck. Clarke glances back toward her table, but Bellamy is engrossed in what looks like a heated discussion with his blonde friend, Byrne. Clarke scans the room, trying to figure out who it is that’s looking at her. And when she finds her, Clarke nearly knocks the glasses off the bar next to her. 

It’s Lexa, her green eyes boring into Clarke from across the room. When Clarke makes eye contact with her, Lexa lights up, smile splitting her face and Clarke whips her head away, heart pounding her chest. 

She hasn’t actually thought concretely about Lexa in months, not since she had fallen into her routine with Bellamy back in October. But there she is, without warning, just across a room staring at Clarke, and Clarke can’t remember what it’s like to not think about her, not feel the anxious crawl up her skin and the light tremor in her fingers. Clarke whips around, turning her back on where Lexa is sitting and digs her fingers into the bar, hoping the bartender notices her before Lexa decides to come find her.

She almost makes it. It’s as she’s waiting for the bartender to finish mixing Bellamy’s Old Fashion, that the low musky perfume tickles her nose and someone leans into the bar next to her. 

“Clarke,” Lexa says in her even, clear voice that carries even over the music. When Clarke looks at her, Lexa’s hair is blown out and spilling gracefully over her bared shoulders, eyes done up in her favorite black shadow and mascara. The soft light of the restaurant manages to highlight her bone structure, the soft curve of her cheeks about her fine cheekbones: it makes her ethereal. She smiles at Clarke, head tilted slightly to one side, sweet. “Hi,” she breathes.

Clarke fights against the way her heart beat kicks up again and the nauseous feeling in her stomach as she struggles to meet Lexa’s eyes. Lexa looks at her like she used to, eyes intense and intimate, like there hasn’t been nearly a year of radio silence between them, like their last words to each other weren’t bitter and poisonous.

“Hi,” Clarke says back and has to drop her eyes. God, she hates that this woman can still make her feel so uncertain of herself a near year after their fall out. “I didn’t know you would be here,” she says, defensively.

Lexa laughs. “Anya’s my cousin. I’m sure I told you about her, way back.” Lexa’s smile deepens. “And I’ve known Gus nearly my entire life, they’ve been together that long.” She looks at Clarke inquisitively. “What are you doing here?”

“A friend brought me,” Clarke says as the bartender returns with her drinks. Clarke tips generously and picks up the glasses. “Well.” She has nothing more to say and shrugs.

“You look beautiful,” Lexa says softly, like it’s an admission, and it’s so goddamn unfair that Lexa can say that to her like she hadn’t cheated on Clarke, hadn’t flat out denied it every time Clarke asked, hadn’t taunted Clarke for her suspicion until Clarke finally caught her. That she can say that and look at Clarke like she expects her to fall right back in love with her. A treacherous voice wonders if she could, whispers it darkly into the back of Clarke’s brain, and she feels the panic rise again fast and has to tamp it down by closing her eyes. She steadies herself with a breath and forces herself to open her eyes again, look back at the beautiful girl in front of her. 

“Ok,” Clarke says darkly and turns on her heel and heads back to her table, rage and fear roiling in her stomach and trying to beat back the stinging in her eyes with controlled breaths. 

When she sets Bellamy’s glass down in front of him, he glances up thank her and stops, staring at her face. “Clarke,” he says quietly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Clarke lies and sits back down. “I’m fine.”

Bellamy gives her a long look and then shakes his head. “Yeah, right,” he says. “Because that’s what you look like when everything’s fine.” He shifts towards her. “Tell me.”

Clarke sighs, blowing out her cheeks and resisting rubbing her eyes and messing up her make up. “I just ran into my . . . ex, that’s all. It’s okay, Bellamy. Really. I was just surprised.” She insists when his eyebrows go up in surprise and gives him a small smile.

Bellamy studies her, a small frown creasing his eyebrows and then he leans back. “Ok,” he says slowly when she looks away from him. “It’s okay to be shaken by that, Clarke.”

“Yes, thank you, I know,” Clarke snaps and then feels bad and reaches out and closes her hand around Bellamy’s forearm to ground herself. “Sorry,” she murmurs and meets his eyes. “This is just the bad break up from last year. Remember? The one with passion?” She grimaces and Bellamy nods, a small sympathetic smile touching his mouth.

“Right. Well, that sucks,” Bellamy says. “So what are we going to do to get your mind off of it?”

“No, Bellamy, it’s fine,” Clarke says, feeling bad that she’s drawing his focus from his friends. “I’m ok. You’re good here, you don’t need to make me feel better.”

“What about dancing?” Bellamy asks, eyes light with a sudden sly mischief and Clarke can’t help her amused twitch of her lips, curious and surprised.

“You never dance,” she accuses him. 

“I dance,” he protest. 

“I’ve been with you countless times to TonDC and I’ve never seen you dance once,” Clarke informs him laughing, crossing her arms and leaning back, sceptical.

“Well, yeah, not at a place like that, Clarke. You’ve gotta have some class,” Bellamy says brusquely and pushes back his chair to stand up. “Come on,” he tilts his head at the dance floor, looking down at her with a challenging smirk. “Come dance with me, Clarke.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to imply that I don’t have class when you’re asking me to dance,” Clarke muses but when Bellamy huffs and offers her his hand, she laughs and takes it, delighted. “Alright, alright. Show me how it’s done.”

“Watch and learn. Or rather,” Bellamy corrects himself, pulling her out onto the floor. “Dance with me and learn.”

He gives her a little twirl, which makes Clarke giggle in surprise, and then pulls her close and settles his hand at her waist, taking her right hand in his and leads her a little improvised, slapdash Cha-cha that mostly follows the beat of the music.

“Where did you learn this?” She asks, looking up into Bellamy’s face.

“Army,” he admits and then makes her spin again, drawing her back in. “There were a few formals for ROTC kids and we kind of had to learn how to dance a little. I think I remember it ok,” he says with a grin.

“Eh, you’re alright at this,” Clarke goads him, although she can’t remember having this much fun dancing with someone since Wells was alive and he and Clarke took classes together growing up. She’s always loved this: dancing at clubs and with her friends is always good, but there’s something about dancing with someone who knows how to lead, how to do more than circle their hips into her, that makes dancing exciting.

And Bellamy’s good. Not amazing, but he still remembers the steps to several different styles, knows how to lead Clarke so that she knows where he wants her, makes her laugh when he surprises her by leading her through an extra pattern. It’s not that Clarke had forgotten, but she hasn’t let herself dwell, either, on Bellamy’s physicality and how big he always felt next to her. Here, when he takes her weight in a dip, where his shoulders are braced strong under her hand, Clarke remembers. It feels good to be reminded, to know this part of Bellamy again, however chastely. 

Bellamy looks grudgingly impressed when Clarke keeps up with his additional patterns and even adds little kicked flares to the moves he’s taking her through.

“So I guess you’ve got some class,” he teases her when she lets her leg pop out and relaxes into his arms when he dips her deeper than before. 

“Like you didn’t know,” Clarke laughs. God, it’s so easy with Bellamy. It’s so simple the way he makes her smile, takes her mind off of Lexa and her anxiety. Clarke face hurts and she realizes it’s because she’s grinning like an idiot, reflecting Bellamy’s big smile that she loves so much back at him.

“I maybe knew,” Bellamy admits and sets her back on her feet, helping her find her balance even on her heels. 

The DJ is good and the music transitions easily through songs. Clarke loses track of how long they dance for, taking a break now and then to finish their drinks and share a plate of the raspberry-vanilla cake, the frosting of which Bellamy swipes on Clarke’s nose when she’s not paying attention. She gives him a pathetic, wide eyed stare, mockingly helpless until Bellamy rolls his eyes, amusement apparent below his unimpressed expression, and rubs it off her face for her with a napkin.

The music slows the later it gets in the evening, which Clarke is grateful for as it’s getting hot in the restaurant and Bellamy’s worn her out. Something soft and crooning comes on, sweet in it’s vintage romance and Clarke glances up at Bellamy, who still has her hand trapped in his, half expecting both of them to call chicken and step back and go get another drink. But Bellamy just shrugs at her and shifts his grip, letting her settle closer to her body, less tension between their arms.

“This ok?” He asks her quietly as they sway together and Clarke looks up at him, cocks her head. 

“Yeah, of course,” she says and there’s a hint of relief in his smile. 

“Good,” he says, thumb digging into her side just because he knows she’s ticklish there and she squirms, laughing. 

“Knock it off, Bellamy,” she complains and he just smiles like he’s won and shifts his hand so it’s on her lower back, thumb giving her a quick stroke before he stills and just guides their gentle movement. His hand is warm through the light fabric of her dress and it feels good. 

“You feeling better?” He asks her after a moment. “This do the trick?” And Clarke doesn’t know what he’s talking about for a moment until she remembers Lexa.

“Yeah,” Clarke says, surprised. “I feel a lot better.” And then, “Thanks, Bellamy.”

“Hey,” Bellamy chuckles. “I do what I can.” There’s a moment’s hesitation before he turns his head just a bit and presses a kiss to her forehead. Clarke closes her eyes under the soft brush of his lips and smiles. Who knew she and Bellamy could ever have gotten back to this point, casual affection and physical comfort so easy between them? 

Clarke puts her nose in his shoulder and smiles. This is what it should be, between people who care about each other. People who hurt each other and still find their way back to each other again. She thinks about Lexa, who had been so cold and cutting the last time Clarke had seen her, so dismissive and defensive of her position, who now looks at Clarke like none of that had ever happened. 

And she thinks about Bellamy, who looks at her with a depth that encompasses all they’ve been through together. He knows their mistakes, knows how they’ve hurt each other and has put in the hard work right alongside her to rebuild themselves out of the rubble of their mutually assured destruction. 

Clarke feels so lucky to have his friendship.

** 

Because late April takes such a drastic turn in weather so quickly (and the rain always catches Clarke by surprise when she’s without a jacket), Clarke knows she’s going to get sick. It’s one of those things she can reliably count on in her body: drastic shifts in weather always leave her stuffed up and feverish. She ignores the signs though, because it’s Raven’s birthday and there’s no way she’s going to leave her hanging. 

She and Octavia take Raven out to her favorite fancy restaurant downtown and buy her enough drinks so that she’s buzzed and talking loud and happy over the upbeat music playing in the restaurant. Raven’s laugh has always been infectious and Clarke is snorting into her ravioli as Octavia chokes on her own cocktail. 

The rest of their friends are waiting for them at TonDC and Monroe snaps a birthday hat onto Raven’s head and Monty and Jasper pull her out to dance on the crowded floor. Octavia and Clarke stay by the bar and order another round of drinks, Bellamy waiting patiently to help carry them back to the table that he and Lincoln had staked out earlier in the evening. Clarke has turned from the bar, talking to Bellamy when she sees Octavia’s face go from laughing to shocked and then angry in the matter of a millisecond as she looks over Clarke’s shoulder. Clarke feels cool fingertips touch her wrist. “Clarke.”

Lexa leans across the bar, a bindi pressed between her impeccably plucked eyebrows, and before Clarke pulls her wrist away, Lexa’s fingers brush lightly over Clarke’s pulse point, just like she used to do when they stayed up late and talked about their future, back when things had been good between them. Although the sensation and memory are jarring, Clarke isn’t as phased as she had been just over a week ago. Under Lexa’s gaze, her heart quickens but there’s none of the sick fear she had felt at Anya’s wedding. Huh.

“Hey, Lexa,” Clarke says and feels Octavia’s hand land low on her back and press against her, protective.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” Lexa says, “Since seeing you the other day.”

“I thought Aden was helping us,” Octavia says loudly over Clarke’s shoulder and Lexa’s green eyes flick to her and then back to Clarke, dismissive of Octavia’s interruption. 

“I just wanted to say hello,” Lexa continues and leans forward closer across the bar. “We didn’t really get a chance to catch up at Anya’s shindig. How are you?”

“Fine,” Clarke says lightly, smiling at Aden when he reappears with shot glasses and a fancy blue bottle, starting to pour out their drinks. “How are you?” She asks, glancing back at Lexa because she is still studying Clarke’s face like she’s ravenous for her. 

“Better for seeing you,” Lexa says softly, her eyes shining at Clarke, hopeful. Clarke suddenly feels bad for her, for Lexa. It’s a foreign concept, seeing Lexa suddenly not as the girl who tore Clarke’s heart apart but as a girl who didn’t know how to keep what she loved. It’s almost heartbreaking when Clarke thinks of it, thinks of how even now, Lexa doesn’t know how to begin to approach repairing what was broken between them, despite how much she might think she wants it. 

“Let me buy you a drink? I’m about to take my break.” Lexa offers.

“Clarke,” Octavia says, warning but Clarke turns and smiles at her. 

“It’s okay,” she assures Octavia. And then to Lexa, “One drink.” 

She leaves Aden her card and passes four shot glasses to Bellamy’s waiting hands, takes four herself and hears Octavia snarl, “Nice cultural appropriation, bitch.” 

“You can’t be serious,” Octavia snaps when they reach the table. “Clarke,” she grabs Clarke’s shoulder and makes Clarke look at her. “Don’t do this again.”

“Octavia,” Clarke says gently. “A drink isn’t going to mean anything. I’m just going to catch up with her.”

“She fucking cheated on you. Clarke, she made you feel like you were crazy when you confronted her with it. I saw you through the end of that relationship, what she did to you. She’s a bitch and she’s always going to put herself first. You don’t owe her the time of day.”

Clarke half sees Bellamy’s head snap up suddenly next to her and she doesn’t look at him. “Listen, Octavia. Nothing more than a drink, ok? Maybe she wants to apologize. Everyone deserves a chance to do that, right?”

“Not if they’re Lexa,” Octavia grumbles. “Ok, have a drink Clarke, but please, _please,_ remember what she did to you.”

“I promise I do,” Clarke says and squeezes Octavia’s hands. “And if I’m not back here in half an hour, you have my full permission to hold an intervention.”

“Don’t think I won’t,” Octavia threatens and then sighs. “Fine, go let your ex screw with your head.”

“I can hold my own against her,” Clarke promises and it’s not just empty words: Clarke knows that it’s true. She fights her way back to the bar and Lexa is waiting for her at the end of the long marble top, two glasses of a sparkling red drink fizzing next to her. 

“Hey, Clarke,” she says again and passes her the drink. Her eyes rake Clarke in, lingering on her mouth before she meets her eyes again. “Looks like you’ve had a good year.”

“It’s been fine,” Clarke says and leans carefully against the bar opposite Lexa. “How have you been?”

“Good, very good.” Lexa says with a smile and goes on to tell Clarke about her last year, working as a part time manager at TonDC and continuing to get her Masters in Political Science. As Lexa talks, she leans towards Clarke, eyes warm and smile easy on her, mouth quirking in a way that used to drive Clarke crazy with want for her. 

She hasn’t lost any of her habits that Clarke used to be so familiar with: the way she fiddles with straws between her long fingers, the way she holds herself like someone is always watching. And Clarke sees her desperation to connect, her desperation to have back what she destroyed between them. But there’s no remorse in Lexa’s eyes, no understanding of what she put Clarke through. When Lexa looks at her, all she sees is a girl she fell in love with and lost. Clarke knows she doesn’t see the ways she undercut Clarke’s confidence, made her feel crazy and isolated from her friends, made her doubt if she was ever worth loving.

Lexa has no idea how to fix things, and Clarke knows she couldn’t give Lexa what she needs without Lexa taking that first step of admitting what happened between them. 

Clarke’s fear, she realizes, had been that she wouldn’t have be strong enough to resist Lexa. That in the end, if it came down to it, she wouldn’t be able to make the right decision and she would fall for Lexa again, fall back into that relationship where she couldn’t trust herself and her own decisions, let alone her partner’s. But there’s no temptation. She looks at Lexa with clear eyes and sees what makes her beautiful and engaging, and sees, too, all the ways she and Lexa could never be together now. When Clarke looks at Lexa, she feels all the ways that she’s grown in the last year, how strong she’s become, and how she knows what she needs now in a way she could never have articulated before. Before Bellamy.

“Are you,” Lexa starts and then glances across the club towards Clarke’s group of friends. “Are you seeing him? The guy who brought you to Anya’s wedding.”

Clarke smiles and shakes her head. “No. We were, before. But we’re just good friends now.”

Lexa nods, a private smile touching her lips, an expression Clarke recognizes as relief. “Well, I can’t say I’m sorry to hear that. Clarke,” Lexa says suddenly and reaches out graze her fingers over the back of Clarke’s hand. “Let me take you out some time, buy you dinner. I do miss you, you know.”

“I know,” Clarke says gently, and catches Lexa’s fingers in her own to give them a sympathetic squeeze before she lets them go and shifts her weight so she isn’t as close to Lexa. “But I don’t. We had our shot and it didn’t work, and you know why.” Lexa’s eyes search hers, lips parting to protest but when Clarke holds up her hand, Lexa demures. “It is what it is, at this point. I’m not going to hold a grudge against you, not anymore, but I can’t see you in my life either. It’s not something that would be good for me.

“But I do hope,” Clarke says, meeting Lexa’s eyes and trying to communicate the intensity of her honesty, “that you find someone you love enough to keep. Everyone deserves that.”

Lexa gazes at her for a long moment and then drops her eyes and gives a slow, stiff nod. “If that’s how you feel,” Lexa says and there’s a catch in her voice. “I hope for best for you too, Clarke.”

“I know,” Clarke assures her. “Thank you for saying it though.”

Clarke leaves Lexa when her break ends and ignores Octavia’s suspicious look to dance with Raven and Monroe, feeling lighter and freer than she has in a long time.She stays out way too late and sure enough she’s got a terrible hangover and a raging head cold that makes itself more apparent as her hangover lessens throughout the day. 

On Monday, Clarke has to call out sick from the clinic and belatedly realizes that she’s supposed to meet Bellamy when she wakes up from a nap close to 3 pm. She flails for her phone across the bed and instead of having to squint at the too bright screen, calls him.

“Hey,” he answers on the second ring, the buzz of an academic building behind him. 

“Hey,” Clarke rasps and Bellamy actually laughs at her.

“You sound like shit, Clarke.” He rumbles at her and she can hear the smile in his voice. 

“I’m sick, Bellamy. Don’t be a dick,” Clarke whines and he chuckles at her again. “Probably not going to make it to our study date today,” Clarke continues apologetically. “My head feels like it’s going to explode.”

“Sounds bad,” Bellamy says and there’s a soft touch of concern to his voice, soothing on her blocked ears. “Do you want me to bring you soup?”

“You don’t have to,” Clarke says, but idea is so appealing compared to getting out of bed and trying to make food for herself that she knows her voice wavers.

“I’m bringing you soup,” Bellamy decides. “And cold medicine.”

“And juice?” Clarke asks hopefully.

“And juice,” Bellamy confirms gently. “Ok if I’m there in thirty?”

“Yeah. I’m a mess, fair warning.”

“Well, you should definitely feel bad about that,” Bellamy says dryly. “See you soon Clarke.”

It’s the first time Bellamy’s been in her apartment in four months and when she opens the door for him in light tank and yoga pants, Bellamy hesitates for just a fraction of a second in the threshold before he crosses the doorsill and gently puts down the brown paper bag. “Hey,” Bellamy says to her. “You doing ok?”

Clarke shrugs, a little lightheaded in standing up for the first time all day and Bellamy’s eyes track the way she steadies herself on the back of the couch. “I’m alright,” Clarke says and Bellamy snorts.

“Yeah right, liar,” Bellamy says lightly and very carefully places his hands on her shoulders. “Sit, Clarke. Before you fall down.”

Clarke sits down gratefully on the couch and Bellamy chucks the blanket at her from where it’s folded on her ottoman. She tucks it over her legs and Bellamy picks up his bag and moves out of her sight to the kitchen. She hears him open her cabinets and the soft clink of dishware and glass. “Drowsy or Non-drowsy?” Bellamy asks her. “I got you both.”

“Really?” Clarke asks, craning her neck back in a way that makes her head pound uncomfortably. “You didn’t have to.”

“I didn’t know what you had,” Bellamy admits as he comes back into her line of sight, balancing a glass of orange juice and a large, steaming bowl of soup on a pretty tray he must have found in her top cabinet. He places it gingerly on the table in front of her and then hands her the bowl of soup. Clarke balances it on her lap and leans back into the couch.

“Thanks Bellamy. This is… this is really nice.”

“You’re sick,” Bellamy says, lingering next to her and then very carefully sitting down on the couch next to her, closer to the couch arm than he is to her. “How could I not?”

Clarke shrugs and takes a spoonful of soup. It’s good, chicken broth and rice with what tastes like fresh carrots and celery. Bellamy lets her eat for a moment and then passes her the glass of juice and two small pills from the tray. “These too,” he prompts her gently. 

“How was class today?” Clarke asks after the silence stretches between them. It’s only a little weird to have Bellamy back in her apartment, mostly because she keeps remembering the last time they were on this couch together, the way his fingers moved so good inside her, the way his arm had hooked around her neck and kept her close as he kissed her, lips slow and certain against her own. The memory isn’t unwelcome, but it’s at odds with their current mindful distance. 

“Long,” Bellamy admits. “Mondays are an ordeal this semester. Two classes in a row and then double office hours.” Clarke winces in sympathy.

“That’s a lot,” Clarke says and Bellamy nods. 

“Yeah, and not the best when you spend your Sunday hungover as fuck.”

Clarke laughs. “You too, huh? Seems like everyone went a bit too hard on Saturday.”

“Miller was sending me the most pathetic texts all yesterday,” Bellamy tells her with a grin. “Apparently, the lesson learned is that we shouldn’t mix jaeger bombs with sambuca.” Clarke pulls a disgusted face.

“God, only Miller would.”

Bellamy smirks and settles more comfortably into the couch, tucking up one foot under his thigh, lounging. He watches her eat for a few moments more and then says, haltingly, “So… that was Lexa?”

“That was Lexa,” Clarke confirms, staring down at her soup.

“Huh,” Bellamy muses. “She’s the one you ran into at Anya’s wedding?” Clarke nods and Bellamy hums and then says, “She’s something.”

“She’s a lot,” Clarke corrects and looks up at Bellamy studying her. “What’s up?”

Bellamy looks like he’s wrestling with his words for a moment before he says, “Octavia told me, um, about what happened between you. And… Clarke, I don’t think you should go back down that road.”

“You offering me relationship advice?” Clarke asks a bit cooly, more annoyed at Octavia than she is at Bellamy.

“God, no,” Bellamy almost laughs as he says it and then sobers. “Of course not. But, Clarke, you deserve to be with someone who doesn’t treat you like shit. I’m not saying people can’t change, but, if she made you feel as crazy as Octavia said she did, if she manipulated you like that… It’s not my place, but I don’t want that for you.” Bellamy looks at her hard, confident in his conviction but uncertain in her reception of it. “You should be with someone who would never do that to you.”

There’s something about his determination even in the face of his doubt, something in how he would try to protect her even knowing he could risk upsetting her, that warms Clarke in a way she hadn’t expected. 

“Lexa is a lot of things,” she says as she leans forward to put her empty bowl down on the table and resituates herself so she’s facing Bellamy on the couch, crossing her legs under her. “She’s incredibly smart and beautiful, she cares a lot about the people she loves, but she also doesn’t know how to accept blame for what she’s done, or what it is to make amends for things that she’s fucked up. And while I agree, maybe she could learn that, it’s not something that’s changed about her yet.” She looks down at her hands and picks at a bit of dry skin, trying to order her thoughts. 

“I might have thought everything else was worth it, in the past,” Clarke admits. “But… honestly, Bellamy, it’s through what you and I had... through falling in love with you and us doing what we did to each other... the fact that we could acknowledge it and that we put in the effort to fix our friendship... Lexa could never do that.” She looks up at him again and Bellamy is looking at her, eyes sad and a little bit longing, listening and waiting for her to continue. 

“After experiencing what we went through and finding our way back to being friends through hard work? I can’t imagine ever being with someone who couldn’t commit to doing that, commit to actually fixing our problems. I know that what we both went through sucked so much more than it should have, but. For what it’s worth, Bellamy? You’ve set the example for me in what to look for in someone I want to be with.

“So you don’t need to worry, ok? As things stand, there’s no way I could ever date Lexa again as she is.”

Bellamy drops his gaze and swallows, nodding slowly. He takes a wet, shaky breath and Clarke impulsively reaches out to touch his knee. “You ok?”

“Yeah,” he says looking up at her again, his large hand warm when it falls on top of hers and traps it on his knee. “Me too, Clarke.” He says, suddenly. “You’ve set that standard for me, too.” Bellamy’s eyes search hers, as if trying to make sure she understands what he’s said, and Clarke lets him in, lets her regret and affection for him both be present in her expression. It’s easy with Bellamy, letting him close in this way that leaves her so open and exposed. Maybe it’s because when she looks back at him, she knows he’s right there with her. There’s nothing they have to hide from each other.

Bellamy finally looks down, fingers squeezing hers before he takes his hand away and rubs the back of his neck. Clarke retracts her hand and leans sideways into the back of the couch. “I should… should I go?” Bellamy asks. “Let you get some rest?”

“Stay,” Clarke offers. “I’ve been alone all day.”

“Ok,” Bellamy agrees and tugs a corner of the blanket loose from under her legs so that he can pull it comfortably over his lap as well. “Movie marathon for old times sake?”

“You know me so well,” Clarke says and when Bellamy opens his arm to her, eyes tentative on her face, Clarke doesn’t hesitate to tuck herself into his side, head pillowed on his chest as she stretches out along side him. Bellamy flips through Clarke’s netflix and finally settles on Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Clarke falls asleep against Bellamy to the sound of slow western accents and ricocheting bullets and the soft scent of Bellamy’s rich pine forest smell, which doesn’t seem out of place at all.

**

Clarke dreams of sex, several nights later. Of a mouth hot against her own, of hands on her body, a little rough with her. Dreams of hair in her fingers as kisses are pressed to her thighs, a tongue that is so good in her cunt that it makes her toes curls. Of being filled and bodies sliding together, skin slippery with sweat.

Clarke wakes aching and, half asleep, grabs her vibrator and grinds her clit up into the thrumming toy, tries to remember the dream she’d been having. She gets frustrated after a while, flashes of it making her stomach twist wonderfully and her clit throb, but it’s not enough to get her there. She casts about vaguely, settles on the way Bellamy used to eat her out, with his fingers fucking into her and his tongue working flat against her clit. Fuck, that’s it, it’s nearly enough, and when she lets herself think of the way his breath used to get rough and stuttery just at the taste of her, the way he grabbed at her when he got worked up, Clarke comes, shaking, having to turn her face into her pillow to ground herself against the aftershocks of it. 

In the predawn light, Clarke only feels a little bad for thinking of Bellamy. She’s been so good, hasn’t let herself use those memories of him for the purpose of getting herself off. It feels a little selfish, but she pushes it out of her head. She hasn’t had a sex dream in ages, hasn’t felt the quiet hunger for more that sits low in her stomach even as she starts to drift back to sleep, haphazardly tossing her vibrator to the other side of the bed. Maybe it’s time she got laid. Maybe it’s time she tried to date.

She let’s Octavia and Raven set her up on a date: a nice, wholesome boy named Stirling who Octavia knows from work. He’s sweet, talks about his family back in the Midwest. He makes her laugh and they get ice cream after dinner. He walks her to the metro and kisses her cheek, lips lingering. 

Clarke doesn’t feel anything for him. She doesn’t see him again. She’ll have better luck on the next date.

**

Their getaway trip to New Hampshire comes at just the right time, Clarke thinks, for all of them. Octavia has been pulling too many hours, Raven and Monty have hit a funding deficit at a crucial stage in development and until Wick can raise more funds, don’t dare to continue; Miller wants an excuse to not think about work for a weekend and Murphy claims that work is unusually slow and unsurprisingly he can’t stand the firm he works for. 

New Hampshire is everything they want. It’s blue skies and brisk spring air, sweet in late April and fresh against their skin when they roll down the windows of the van and let the breeze in. As their mini caravan begins its ascent into the mountains, highways giving over to smaller roads surrounded by pine and spruce trees, there’s an excitement that sweeps through them all, making Monty laugh loudly, making Jasper ham harder than usual. 

The cabin they’ve rented is more beautiful in person than the pictures online could have done justice. It’s rustic looking on the outside, old log cabin style with logs stacked and interlaced, but on the inside it’s been completely refurbished. The downstairs is a modern layout, largely an open floor plan that’s divided by furniture alone into a living room area that has a sliding door to the deck and a large fireplace stocked with wood, and a dining area with a long table and stools and chairs, enough for them all to crowd around. The kitchen is tucked away behind the stairs that lead up to the second level. There’s one large bedroom with three large bunk beds and three smaller bedrooms, a queen bed in each, that are immediately claimed by the couples.

Clarke tosses her stuff down on the bed underneath Raven while Monroe and Bellamy playfully bicker about who gets the last remaining topic bunk since Murphy has thrown himself out on the one closest to the door, Monroe wins in the end when she manages to outclimb Bellamy up the ladder and chucks her shoes at him until he ducks onto the bed underneath to take cover.

Octavia discovers a hot tub on a small side deck by the kitchen, and there’s a great stretch of lawn that leads down to the small dock and beach. Towards the end of the lawn, near where the trees provide a natural barrier, the land has been flattened with decorative paving stones on a small rise, and two adirondack chairs overlook the lake. 

“This is perfect,” Raven says, unloading the couple cases of beer they’ve packed and tossing one to Clarke and Octavia as they lounge together on the couch, the deck door open to invite the air inside. “Best idea ever, Octavia.”

“Thank you,” Octavia says. “I thought it would be.”

Having left so early in the morning, they’re all inclined to take the rest of the afternoon easy, and Lincoln gets the hot tub going and several of them pile in, beers and all. Clarke walks down to the dock, her bare feet on the chilly grass feel good and she sticks them in the water despite it’s frigid temperature just to prove she can. 

Monty and Miller volunteer to make dinner that night and while they’re cooking, Bellamy and Lincoln discover a chest full of games and they play Risk while Clarke and Octavia cheer them on. 

Clarke is up too early the next morning, way before anyone else in her shared room. The light is just beginning to filter in through the flimsy curtain and the soft, even breathing in the room is peaceful. Clarke lies in bed for a few minutes, debating whether or not she can fall asleep, but muted sound of birdsong beyond the window is too tempting, and Clarke pulls on jeans and a cardigan and takes her book outside. 

It’s still brisk and there’s a definite, early spring chill in the air, but the sun ripples across the lake and feels so good on Clarke’s face. She camps out on one of the red adirondack chairs, pulling her feet up and tucking her fingers into her sleeves as she buries her nose in her Michael Chabon book and doesn’t look up again until there are soft footsteps on the paving stones and Bellamy joins her, two mugs of tea in hand.

“Hey,” he greets her, setting down one of the mugs on the arm of her chair and settling into the other one himself.

“You’re up early,” Clarke says and takes a sip of her tea. “Thanks.”

“The beds are too small,” Bellamy complains. “And Murphy snores.”

“What was the rule about snorers?” Clarke asks absently and Bellamy laughs.

“You saying we banish Murphy to the couch downstairs?”

“Seems like the most humane option for everyone involved.”

“We would wake up with all our belongings in the lake,” Bellamy says dryly and Clarke has to agree. “What are you reading?” Bellamy asks after a moment when Clarke has put her book down in her lap and is enjoying the view.

She shows him the cover. “One of my dad’s old books, I’ve been working my way through his collection.”

Bellamy takes the book from her and flips through it. “You like it? I hear Chabon is good.”

“Love it. You can borrow it when I’m done if you want.”

“Yeah? Alright. Are we going to have our own little book club, Clarke?”

Clarke smirks at the thought. “Wine, cheese and all.”

“Is that how book clubs work?” Bellamy snorts. “Sounds all very lush.”

“The ones I’ve always seen have been about getting drunk and seeing who could sound the most pretentious.”

“Hipsters,” Bellamy says with a snort and Clarke has to agree.

They end up going for a walk since it’s early and no one else is awake yet when they go back inside to drop off their empty mugs. There’s a pretty trail they follow that winds them through the woods and they share a bag of trail mix as they walk. Clarke asks Bellamy more about his army days and Bellamy reflects on it slowly, leaving space between his words that Clarke doesn’t fill, letting him think. 

They find an old maple tree and Bellamy hoists Clarke up to the lowest branch so she can scramble up and then follows her. They climb halfway up, sitting on branches next to each other and Clarke tosses Bellamy an apple. They sit in the tree for a long time, bark rough against their backs.

“I always used to love climbing trees,” Clarke says and Bellamy turns to study her.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, me and my dad, we used to go hiking when I was growing up. We’d always sneak off the trail, find a tree like this. I remember one time,” Clarke laughs, “I fell and got all scratched up. My mom was so pissed at my dad.”

Bellamy chuckles next to her. “How are things with your mom anyway?”

“Better, I think,” Clarke says, swinging her feet. “She’s not bugging me about medical school anymore. I think she’s okay with what I’m doing now. Plus,” she says, glancing at Bellamy with a grin. “She’s seeing someone, so that kind of takes the pressure off me.”

“Well that’s good, huh?” Bellamy asks. “I’m glad it’s better.”

“Thanks,” Clarke says, cocking her head at him.

They climb down when they figure it’s late enough in the morning that their friends might worry after them. Bellamy drops down first and catches Clarke’s waist as she slides down so she doesn’t drop as heavily to the ground. Clarke steadies herself on his shoulders.

They walk without any haste back to the cabin and spend the rest of the morning helping to make a late brunch for their friends. 

The rest of the weekend passes at an easy crawl, so unlike the rush of the city Clarke’s gotten used to. There’s nothing out here to do but go for long walks or strip down and lie out on the grass to attempt to tan with Octavia, Raven and Maya. There’s talk of a polar plunge and they all race down and leap into the still frigid water after a late dinner, than climb shivering into the hot tub to warm up.

Saturday passes much the same way. It’s warmer and most of the day they all spend on blankets they’ve spread out on the lawn. They play board games or read, pass a joint around and Clarke falls asleep in the sun, head pillowed on her arms, Raven straddling her back and working the knots out of her back. 

Lincoln makes a huge dinner for everyone and then they build a fire in the living room late, and decide the best option is to clearly finish off the rest of the alcohol they’ve brought with them. There’s a round of shots, and then another. Octavia passes Clarke a can of shitty beer and Raven bets them all that she can beat everyone in monopoly. Miller is highly skeptical and Monroe disagrees flat out. They set up the board and Clarke half joins Raven’s team but monopoly has always been too long a commitment to hold her interest and when she’s already tipsy, she gets distracted easily. Bellamy’s sitting across the table from her and she amuses herself by tossing m&ms in the air for him to catch in his mouth. Jasper and Monty catch on and toss each other popcorn across the length of the table so that chocolate and kernels end up all over the floor and in a few of their friends’ drinks. It turns into a weird competition that ends when Jasper gets over enthusiastic and tips too far backward into Monroe and makes her spill her drink.

When the fire gets too hot at Clarke’s back she stands with a slow roll of her shoulders and grabs her leather jacket from where it’s hanging by the deck door. “I’m going to grab some air,” she announces to the general group and Octavia decides it’s the perfect time for a smoke break. She joins Clarke on the deck with Lincoln, Bellamy and Miller, and they pass a joint around. Clarke declines it, enjoying the cool air and her friends’ company more than wanting to get any more buzzed. She’s pulled driving duty tomorrow along with Bellamy and would rather not drive with any sort of weird hangover. 

When they’re down to the filter, Octavia pockets it and tugs Lincoln back inside, Miller following good naturedly but Clarke lingers, resting against the rail and letting the wind whisper across her face.

“You coming?” Bellamy asks and Clarke glances over her shoulder at him and nods. 

“Yeah, in a minute. I like the stars,” she says, glancing up at the sky and Bellamy joins her, leaning his back into the rail and looking up at the sky with her, a soft smile on his face.

“It’s pretty amazing,” he admits and Clarke nods. 

“I always thought it’d be nice to live off somewhere you could see the stars like this all the time,” Clarke says aloud and Bellamy actually laughs at her.

“Getting sick of the city, Clarke?”

“It’s the mountain air,” Clarke says, “you can’t tell me you’ve never imagined it.”

“Nah, I’m a city kid at heart.” Bellamy decides. “You’d get bored out here anyway, not enough people to boss around.”

“Hey,” Clarke protests and turns so she’s looking out across the lawn. “But you’re probably right. I need more people than you’d get out here.”

“And look at this jacket,” Bellamy adds. Clarke glances down at herself. It’s the jacket she bought when she was out with Gina and Raven, the one Octavia has dubbed The Jacket of a Million Pockets, black leather and covered in zippers. Clarke grins.

“What about my jacket?”

“This is an unnecessary number of pockets, Clarke,” Bellamy says. Clarke shrugs and looks up at him, playful.

“Maybe I have a lot of things I need to hold, Bellamy.”

“Oh yeah?” He chuckles and reaches out to touch the zip that starts at her shoulder and goes down a few inches on her chest. He tugs it with a sharp snap of his wrist and dips his fingers into the lining, brushing against her collarbone. “You couldn’t even fit your ID in here, what are you going to put in here, huh?” 

“Mm, emergency coffee beans.” Clarke decides, “for when I gotta get that fix.”

Bellamy laughs and draws the zipper back up, fingers lingering against her shoulder to play with the tab of it. “I always knew it was going to be a problem for you, Clarke. All that coffee.”

Clarke looks up into his face. “You going to make something of it, Blake?” And Bellamy arches an eyebrow and grins back down at her. Clarke smirks at him, challengingly. His eyes drop to her mouth.

It’s an old, pavlovian response, but Clarke knows her lips part under his gaze and low in her stomach something hot unfurls like a fan, hungry. Bellamy’s eyes spark and then darken and in an imperceptible shifting of weight, he sways closer. 

In that instance, Clarke wants nothing more than his mouth on hers, kissing her like she remembers him kissing her that first night in Octavia’s kitchen, his hand warm on her back like it was again at Anya’s wedding, his breath stuttering against her lips the way it used to when he fucked her and she came around his cock.

And at the same time, she wants to press her mouth to Bellamy’s temple when he’s sad, she wants his laughter, wants the way he shakes his head at her even as his eyes light up when she’s teasing him, the way he speaks with conviction, the way he sticks his tongue out when he’s reading, wants to buy him enough chocolate cake and ice cream to make him sick... wants _him_. All of him. 

The force of it, how completely and entirely she wants Bellamy Blake, hits her so hard in that moment she has to take a step back and she knows she’s looking at Bellamy like she’s never seen him before, can’t control her expression fast enough, can’t find the words to stop him from recoiling back as well, pain and guilt and self-disgust flashing across his face too fast for her to stop.

“No-” she starts and Bellamy shakes his head, stepping back. 

“No,” he agrees, broken. “No.”

“Wait, Bellamy-” Clarke starts, heart racing, reaching out to stop him because she doesn’t have the words to describe the rush of what she’s feeling, but even as she tries, the deck door slides open and she and Bellamy both freeze, guilty and caught out. Murphy steps out onto the deck with an unlit cigarette in his hands and he raises an eyebrow at them even as he slowly begins to slide the door closed behind him.

“Well, well, well,” he drawls. “Am I interrupting?” He pulls out his lighter and lights up, eyes on them with a bored disinterest. When neither of them can immediately find words, Murphy actually looks surprised.

“Wait, actually?” He asks, sardonically delighted. “I mean, I was always holding out hope for you two crazy kids, but-” 

“Shut up, Murphy,” Bellamy snaps, suddenly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “There’s nothing going on.”

“Well,” Murphy says slowly, glancing between them. “Probably for the best, I mean, can you imagine how poorly that would go when you two inevitably fucked it up?”

“I don’t need to,” Bellamy says quietly and doesn’t look at Clarke, even as she tries to catch his eyes, wills him to look at her because they can’t ignore this. 

“Bellamy,” Clarke says softly but Bellamy shakes his head and steps off the porch, shoulders dipped in, head low. Clarke watches him go into the dark, heart in her throat. 

“So,” Murphy starts and Clarke whips around to face him.

“Please, just fuck off,” Clarke snarls, she knows it’s unfair, knows Murphy doesn’t deserve it but she can’t help it, she’s gutted. 

“Alright, don’t know what I did, but I’m guessing you think I deserve that,” Murphy says archly and leaves Clarke on the porch after stamping out his cigarette on the rail and tucking it behind his ear.

“Bellamy?” Clarke asks the darkness, but her voice is shaking and she gets no reply. She leans her head back against the rough wood of the cabin and takes a long breath, trying to still the tremble in her fingers, the sick, fluttery feeling in her stomach. Because she loves Bellamy Blake. She still loves him. God, she’s an idiot, she thinks as tears sting her eyes. 

When she closes her eyes, it seems inevitable. It seems like she should have known she was going to end up here, heart sick and alone on a New Hampshire cabin deck. How could she have fooled herself? The fact that it’s not even that surprising, not like it was back in December when she looked down into a picture of her face and saw love, doesn’t help. This love glows from her chest, seeps from her pores and encompasses her mind so entirely that the fact that she hadn’t recognized it for what it was until the moment Bellamy looked at her lips, wanted her, is pathetically laughable.She’s done it again, let herself focus so hard on being friends with Bellamy that the truth and depth of her feelings have caught her by surprise.

It’s terrifying that she’s back here again. Terrifying because it’s the same feeling she had for Bellamy over four months ago that resulted in them having to put so much effort into rebuilding their friendship. But it’s because of that work that their friendship that stands taller and stronger than any connection they had had before; that they’ve become closer than Clarke has ever been to a person, bar none. 

But that’s not entirely right, Clarke realizes. What she feels for Bellamy now, what is curling warmly in her chest around her heart is not the same creature that grew in the dark, untended and unasked for. This is brighter and hotter and feels more perfect than anything Clarke has ever felt in her life. Even as she wants to shrink from it, it sends joy radiating through her body, tingling down her arms and pushing a gasped, terrified laugh from her mouth because, holy shit, she’s in love with Bellamy Blake, who she trusts more than anyone else on the goddamn planet. And if that isn’t beautiful and right and earth shatteringly wonderful, she doesn’t know what is.

And this time, Clarke doesn’t care if he’s there or not. She doesn’t care that she doesn’t feel worthy of Bellamy; she has to tell him anyway, because Bellamy deserves to know he’s loved. He deserves to be loved regardless of his own reciprocation. 

Clarke takes a deep, calming breath and scrubs a hand over her face. The chill in the air is still sharp and but there’s a fierce warmth in her chest as she steps back inside. The chatter of her friends and the crack of the fire do little to drown out the thudding of her heart, but she gets a glass of water and sets herself to sobering up. She sits on the couch with Raven and cheers her on as she slowly collects all the properties on the monopoly board and strokes Octavia’s hair when she flops back into Clarke’s lap, crossfaded and giggling over a bug that Lincoln found in her hair.

“I love you,” Octavia croons up at her, and Clarke giggles down into her face and when Octavia demands it, tells her about the home they’re going to get when they’re old with their succulents and cats and how Lincoln will get to come visit on weekends and every other Wednesday. 

It gets later and her friends slowly head off to bed. Monroe falls asleep on the couch and Clarke helps Lincoln get her up the stairs to her bed. She says goodnight to both him and a sleepy, neck-nuzzling Octavia on the landing before she goes back downstairs. 

She catches Murphy on his way up the stairs. “Sorry,” she murmurs. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“It’s alright,” Murphy says glibly. “If I took offense every time someone told me to fuck off, well, I’d probably be just as jaded. We’re simpatico, Clarke.”

When the clock on the mantle above the fireplace reads quarter past two, it’s just her and Raven left, Raven’s arm resting in Clarke’s lap as Clarke runs her fingers lightly up and down her forearm and Raven murmurs sleepily about the next stage of her app. “It’s late,” Raven finally says, blinking at Clarke. “We should head to bed.”

“Go on,” Clarke urges her. Bellamy hasn’t come back yet and Clarke won’t be able to sleep until she at least sees him back safe. “I’m going to stay up and read a bit.”

Raven frowns at her, eyes studying her face. “Really?”

“Yeah, I’m still a little buzzed,” Clarke lies, “I’ll feel better if I stay up until it’s gone, especially if I’m driving tomorrow.”

“Alright,” Raven says patting Clarke’s leg and heaving herself up off the couch. “I’ll see you in the morning… or, late morning,” she corrects, looking at the clock.

“Sleep well,” Clarke wishes her and when the door to the big bedroom shuts softly, Clarke stands up and stretches, flips off the lights in the kitchen so that the only light left comes from the high, small brights that illuminate the second level and the soft glow of the fire. 

Clarke wonders for a moment if Bellamy somehow came back without her noticing, but she doesn’t think so. Clarke digs her phone out of her jacket pocket and crouches in front of the fireplace, heart beating too fast in her chest as she dials Bellamy and presses her phone against her ear, trying to steady the trembling of her hands.

It rings for a long time. Long enough that Clarke thinks maybe Bellamy left his phone in the van or in his bag, but then at the last second, the ring cuts out and in a soft exhale of breath, Bellamy’s there with her.

“Clarke?” Bellamy asks and Clarke can suddenly see Bellamy out in the dark, watching her name light up across his screen, not wanting to answer. Answering anyway.

“Where are you?” Clarke asks gently.

Bellamy hesitates a long time before he says, “Down by the chairs.”

“Alright. Stay there, ok?” Bellamy doesn’t say anything but he sighs long and slow, and Clarke ends the call. She steals Octavia’s long woolen scarf and steps out on the deck, shutting the door behind her and carefully picking her way down the wooden stairs and across the lawn, using her phone as a flashlight to find her way to the large adirondack chairs that look out over the lake. The fresh smell of mountain grass and pine trees stir around her. Above her the stars fill the sky, brighter and more numerous than she’s ever been able to see from DC, and when she tips her head back to look at them, all she sees are Bellamy’s freckles.

Bellamy is hunched in one of the chairs, forearms braced on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. He glances up at Clarke, quick, just long enough for her to see his guard is up, when she sits on the edge of the second chair and drapes Octavia’s scarf around Bellamy’s shoulders. 

“You’ve been out here a while,” Clarke says and Bellamy just nods. He takes another long, slow breath.

“Clarke-” he starts, voice firm and Clarke hears that he’s about to give a speech, something he’s mulled over for the past hour and half he’s been out here alone. Clarke reaches out to touch his shoulder. He stops as her fingers rest against his arm, just the slightest tremor under her hand and Clarke isn’t sure if it’s because he’s cold or because she’s touching him. 

“Before you say anything,” Clarke says, knowing her voice is shaking because she’s terrified but not caring, “I want to say something. Is that ok?”

Bellamy squints down at his hands and gives a quick, curt nod.

“Bellamy,” Clarke breathes, “I love you. I still love you.” His head snaps up so quickly to look at her that Clarke is almost worried he’s hurt himself. “I know,” she continues carefully, “that we’re just supposed to be friends. I know that last time I was in this place, I hurt you more than I ever could have imagined, and maybe you can’t ever love me again because of it. But I can’t help it. I’m in love with you… And if you’d have me, I want to be with you.”

There’s a long beat of silence where Bellamy just stares at Clarke like he doesn’t understand.. And then:

“You can’t mean that,” Bellamy says, head shaking slowly. “Clarke, you can’t.”

“Why not?” Clarke asks. 

“Why not?” Bellamy echos in disbelief. “Because I was shit to you, Clarke. I was the fucking worst: the way I ignored you for two months? The shit I said to you because I got hurt and didn’t bother to clear it up? Do you remember that?”

“Of course I do,” Clarke says and Bellamy’s head drops again between his shoulders. “I also remember,” Clarke continues, “that you had tried to tell me that you loved me and you thought I had rejected you, flat out. I also remember I was pretty awful to you as well. We’ve talked about this, Bellamy, we’re fixing it as we go.”

“Yeah, as friends, Clarke. Not like this.”

Clarke bites her lip and looks down at her hands. “Are you saying that you don’t feel the same way?”

“Whether I do or not hardly matters,” Bellamy says gruffly and Clarke can’t stand it.

“It does to me,” she says. “‘Cause last time we were here, I lost you because I wasn’t clear enough with you. So tell me if you don’t feel the same way, and I’ll leave it alone. I won’t ever bring it up again and it won’t get in the way of our friendship. But I need to hear you say it. I need to hear that you don’t love me back.”

Bellamy looks at her for a long time, his jaw working. And then slowly, finally, he lowers his eyes. “I can’t tell you that,” he says and his voice is shredded.

“Then why not?” Clarke asks him, pushing down the rush of joy in her chest because Bellamy is still hiding behind his walls. “Why can’t I love you?” 

“Because I am trying,” Bellamy says through thin lips, hands flexing between his legs, “to protect you, Clarke.”

“How is this protecting me?” Clarke chokes. 

“You’re not supposed to be able to love me again. That’s not how this plays out,” Bellamy says, staring hard at the ground.

“So how does it?” Clarke asks him and Bellamy’s mouth tightens. “No, tell me, Bellamy. How does it play out? What’s the game plan, then?” She asks viciously.

Bellamy doesn’t rise to the bait. He sighs and then shakes his head.

“The game plan is already fucked,” he admits. “I was supposed to be over you. I was supposed to be able to just be friends with you.”

“But that’s not the case.” Clarke presses, seeking the weak points in his resistance, because somewhere beneath it, Bellamy is in love with her still. 

Bellamy laughs raggedly, suddenly, and has to cover his mouth. 

“No,” he says, pained. “Hardly. I thought I was over being in love with you and I date a woman who is beautiful and wonderful but the only goddamn thing I see is that she isn’t you. And then you and me, we become friends again and I learn all the things I never got to know about you before and realize, too late, that all those feelings I had for you are still there, only stronger. But that’s as far as it can go, Clarke. 

“From here on out, the only way this goes is with you falling in love with someone who loves you the way I do, only better. Someone who would never treat you like I did.”

“And you?” Clarke asks, heartbroken. “Where do you end up in this?”

“As close as I can get to you without hurting you,” Bellamy says with finality, staring at the large paving stones beneath their feet.

“So you torture yourself,” Clarke whispers. “You torture me, because you think you’re not good enough for me?”

“Because I know I’m not,” Bellamy says bitterly. “I told you before, Clarke, you shouldn’t be with anyone who would ever treat you like shit. That means I’m out of the game.”

“Fuck that,” Clarke spits, “You said yourself people can change. What? Does that only potentially apply to Lexa? You don’t get to decide whether or not someone’s good enough for me, do you hear me? That’s bullshit, Bellamy.” 

He looks up at her again with a hard grimace on his mouth, so at odds with the pain in his eyes. “I do when it’s about me.”

“Listen to me. _I_ have told _you_ before,” Clarke pleads, her voice breaking. “That you are enough. And when I say that now, I mean you’re enough for me.There’s no one else I can imagine loving the way I love you. And you don’t get to take that away from me in some misguided, masochistic sacrifice. Because if you do that, you’re hurting me too. You’re exactly who I need, ok? You are my soul, Bellamy.”

Bellamy stares at her, face raw, broken open by Clarke’s fierce conviction. 

“You have a damaged soul then,” Bellamy says at last, swallowing hard. “One I wouldn’t ever wish on you.”

“So be it,” Clarke says. “Doesn’t change the truth of it, Bellamy. Doesn’t change that as long as you’re in my life, I know I’m never going to stop loving you. And I know you’re not strong enough to leave me, or you already would have.”

It’s cruel, biting, but Clarke thinks this is what Bellamy needs right now to break down the crumbling remains of his defenses. And she’s right: Bellamy chokes audibly as he ducks his head and covers his face. Clarke scrambles off the chair and kneels in front of him. 

“Bellamy, look at me,” she says and he complies, dropping his hand again. Clarke takes it tight in her own. “I know you don’t trust yourself, but I do. I love you so much and it’s not something you have to earn or deserve, ok? I love you because you’re you.” Bellamy’s fingers tighten around her own and his eyes search hers. She’s so close to him, face just inches from his and she keeps her eyes locked with his full dark ones. 

“Would it be so bad?” She asks. “To be with me?”

Bellamy’s breath whooshes out of him. “No,” he says just loud enough for her. “You’re all I want.”

“So,” she says, squeezing his hand. “Why not?”

“What if it doesn’t work?” Bellamy asks desperately. “I can’t… I can’t lose you again, Clarke. How can I know that I won’t?”

“I can’t pretend to have the answer to that,” Clarke says quietly after a moment. “Listen, Bellamy. If you really, honestly believe that not being together is what’s best for you, I’ll respect that.” She can’t help but brush her hand brief and light along the definition of Bellamy’s cheekbones, right there in front of her. Bellamy’s eyes flutter under her touch. “But, Bellamy,” Clarke whispers. “What if it works?” 

There’s a broken hope that ignites softly in Bellamy’s eyes and Clarke fights on. 

“We have the ground work, and we know we’re a work in progress. There’s shit we still need to figure out, but who doesn’t have that? I’m not going into this expecting everything to be perfect; I wouldn’t want that anyway. But you and me? We can solve those things together. I know we can.”

Bellamy presses his lips together for a long moment and then drops his gaze. Clarke doesn’t let him hide from her, ducking her head to find his eyes again. When she does, they’re dark with emotion and he peers back at her through his curls. “Hey?” Clarke whispers. “I know we can.”

And then, very slowly, Bellamy nods and releases a shaky breath. “Ok,” he says simply, and Clarke’s heart stutters in her chest.

“Ok?” Clarke repeats, feeling tears and laughter warring in her throat.

Bellamy’s fingers tighten on her own and he nods again. “Ok. Yes. I love you, Clarke. God, I love you so fucking much I don’t know what to do with myself half the time.” His voice is completely shot, gravelled with emotion. He tips his forehead into hers and his skin feels so good against her own. 

“I don’t know why you want me,” he admits softly, “but I trust you. And if you think we can do this, then I’m following your lead. I’m in. You’re worth that risk.” And then, as his thumb trembles along the back of her hand: “I love you,” whispered like a prayer.

“I love you,” Clarke says back because she doesn’t know what else to say, all her words are gone but for this one, single truth. “Bellamy, I love you.”

He draws back just a fraction and it feels too far. Clarke follows him, finds his chin with her hand and just lightly feathers her lips over his own. The way his breath falters and he tilts towards her, eyes falling closed, nearly undoes Clarke entirely. She kisses him again, real this time, and God. It’s been so long but Bellamy’s mouth under hers is just the same shape as it was when she first kissed him and loved him, his lips still just slightly chapped, his breath against her mouth just as sweet.

She’s crying when she pulls back, but Bellamy catches her just behind her elbow and chases her, reclaims her mouth, fierce but sure and confident even in his desperation for her. When she strokes her hand over his face, her fingers come away damp because he’s crying too.

They stay out a long time on the chairs. Bellamy draws Clarke into his lap and tucks his face into her neck and they just sit together, one of Clarke’s hands interlaced with Bellamy’s, her other smoothing his curls gently, over and over as she strokes his head. When they hear the first bird song, not yet dawn but drawing close, they rouse themselves and walk back to the cabin. 

In the large bedroom, the soft gentle sound of easy sleep greets them. They hesitate for only a moment before Bellamy squeezes Clarke’s shoulder and presses a kiss to her temple and they climb into their own beds. It’s too soon and they are too fragile to have their friends wake up to them sharing a bed. Clarke drifts off as grey light slowly begins to fill the room, emotionally drained and raw but desperately in love with someone who loves her back.

Octavia shakes her awake just before noon and then beats Bellamy with a pillow so they can come get lunch. Clarke feels a little sluggish, but when she meets Bellamy’s eyes across the table, his eyes search hers and Clarke smiles at him. _Yeah,_ she wants to tell him, _It wasn’t a dream_.

They find a moment alone, tucked around the corner in the kitchen while their friends clean up the house, Monroe vacuuming, Miller actually dusting the fireplace mantle. Clarke wraps her arms loosely around Bellamy’s back, his lips pressed to her forehead, his hand steady along her jaw, cupping her face. It’s all they afford themselves before Clarke helps Octavia clean up the kitchen and pack up their food and Bellamy goes to help get bags in the car.

They leave in the mid afternoon, Clarke claiming shotgun next to Bellamy in the van. The drive is long and they chat about little things. Halfway home, in the dark and everyone asleep in the back, Bellamy pulls into a rest stop and he and Clarke switch. As they pass in front of the car, she catches him and kisses his neck. In the dark of the car, he steals one of her hands from the steering wheel and holds it in her lap. He talks to her, voice low and rumbling, keeping her awake on the long road ahead.

They drop everyone off at their respective places and then Clarke doesn’t even bother to ask Bellamy, she drives them back to her apartment. As soon as they’re through the door, almost too tired to speak, Bellamy tugs her close and wraps her up in a hug, arms locked tightly around her back, face buried in hair. Clarke fits her lips into the skin of his shoulder and lets him hold her. 

“Shower and sleep,” she finally says, leaning back and thumbing along his cheekbone. “I think we’ve earned some rest.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy agrees. Clarke strips down in the bathroom and Bellamy looks at her a long moment before he strips off his shirt and shucks his pants. They crowd under the water together and Bellamy ducks his head to kiss her, slow and sweet. His kisses are at once so familiar and so strange. She has never kissed Bellamy and felt his raw emotion, his desperate yearning for her, his love. She can’t stop touching him, hands on his arms, relearning the muscular definition; palms flat over his chest, fingers brushing just quick and light over his abs. Bellamy for his part trails his fingertips down her back and ghosts them along her sides, strokes gently over the curve of her breasts.

They crawl into Clarke’s bed and Bellamy brushes the hair out of her face so he can kiss her again, both too tired to do anything more than press their lips together and share the same air. When she’s half asleep and still trying to kiss him, Bellamy finally tucks Clarke’s head under his chin and wraps an arm around her back . “Sleep,” he husks. “Everything else can wait until the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Me.](verbam.tumblr.com)


	9. Picking Up

Clarke hadn’t bothered to close the curtains, too caught up in Bellamy and her exhaustion the night before, so she wakes as the sun creeps across the bed, kissing her bare back, tingling warm on her cheek. The covers are rucked down around her waist, another body in the bed more than enough to keep her warm, and when she blinks her eyes open she’s greeted by the rich golden expanse of Bellamy’s bare shoulders and back. He’s buried his face in the pillows and with both a pang of loss and a deep ache of contentment, Clarke can’t believe she’d forgotten that he slept like he was going to suffocate himself. 

She knows it’s early and she should get as much sleep as she can before her alarm if she wants to get through the day without hating herself, but Bellamy is right _there_ , and the only thing she can think about is how his sleep and sun warmed skin would feel under her fingers. She reaches out and touches his elbow where’s crooked under the pillow and follows the line up his arm to his shoulder where there’s a smattering of freckles, a grouping that looks like tactical markings on a map. She lingers there, skimming her fingertips lightly between them. 

She’s never done this before, she realizes. Never just been able to touch Bellamy like this, never been able to explore this part of his body as lazy about it as she likes. It’s good. It feels new and exciting and right. 

There are trails and promises of freckles that lead across his back and Clarke shifts closer so she can watch her fingers follow them over to his shoulder blade, dip down close to his spine and then zips her fingers between one freckle to the next all down his back until she’s brushing his tailbone and Bellamy huffs above her, twitching. 

Clarke presses her lips to his shoulder, not quite managing to hide her smile. “Sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

When she pulls back enough that she can see his face, Bellamy’s got one eye cracked and is watching her. “Yeah you did,” he rumbles, voice a little hoarse with sleep and it sends a shiver through Clarke. 

“Mm, maybe I did,” she concedes with a grin which Bellamy matches, if the twitch of the corner of his mouth that she can see is anything to go by. “Hey.”

“Hey to you too. Come here,” Bellamy says, sleep slow and gruff, and Clarke shifts so she can burrow into the pillow next to him, get close to his face as Bellamy wraps an arm over her hips and runs his palm slow and sure up her back until he’s cupping the nape of her neck, twisting his fingers lightly into her hair. Once she’s close enough that he doesn’t have to move much, he lifts his head and kisses her. They both taste a little sour with sleep but Clarke can’t bring herself to care because Bellamy is in her bed and touching her and smiling under her mouth.

It’s lazy, the way their mouths move. Slow, the way Bellamy presses his lips to hers, firm and dry, then pulls her bottom lip between his and traces his tongue over it, deepening. Clarke squirms closer, likes the way Bellamy’s hand tightens marginally on the back of her neck in response, the way he squeezes like he remembers what that does to her. There’s not any more intention in their kissing than there had been the night before, but this still feels different. It feels more relaxed, like even within the space of eight hours they’ve settled further into this new space between them, the space that is more than physical and more than emotional: something spiritual in their connection. 

Bellamy hums into her mouth and shifts closer, nuzzling at Clarke’s face even as he gets her to roll onto her back so he can slide his body over hers, bare skin on bare skin. Clarke sighs and wraps her arms around Bellamy’s neck, curls her fingers into his hair as he eases his weight carefully onto her. God it feels so good to be underneath Bellamy, to feel the warm, broad expanse of his body blanketing her. It does something funny to Clarke’s chest and she has to break their slow string of kisses and mouth at his neck to give herself a moment to fight against the way her eyes sting with happiness. 

“Missed you,” Bellamy murmurs into Clarke’s ear, lips tracing the shell of it, a light graze of his teeth that makes Clarke’s breath catch ever so slightly. “Missed having you like this.” He combs her hair away from her neck with careful fingers and drags his mouth down her throat, lingers at the junction of her neck and shoulder and, ever so lightly, gives her his teeth.

“I missed you so much,” Clarke whispers back and feels her breath hitch when Bellamy bites just a bit harder before soothing it with a kiss. He nibbles along her collarbone and Clarke runs her hands down his back slow, pressing into the muscle along his spine and lipping at his hair until he lifts his head back up and kisses her again. It’s wetter, a little filthier the way Bellamy opens his mouth against hers and licks into her, and Clarke whines, grips him tighter, pulls him closer. 

He’s half hard against her hip and when Clarke sucks on his tongue he thrusts against her. Shit but that’s hot, the smooth grind of him against her skin. Clarke can feel herself getting wet and wiggles under Bellamy, moans when he curls his fingers in her hair and pulls.

“Fuck, Clarke,” Bellamy exhales when he breaks away, peppering light kisses on her cheeks and nose and chin and then resting his forehead against hers. “God, you feel so good. I want to fuck you so bad right now it’s killing me.” He ducks down to kiss her again, slow once more and lingering. “But-”

“-We should talk, I know.” Clarke sighs and kisses Bellamy’s jaw. She spreads her legs and Bellamy’s body settles naturally in the cradle of them, weight more comfortably distributed. Clarke wraps her legs around the back of his thighs and scratches her nails lightly along his shoulder. “I want to talk like this though.”

“Of course you do,” Bellamy says, amused and fond, and gathers her hair so that it’s spread out on the pillow above her head, curls his fingers in the ends of it as he looks down at her. “Alright,” he starts. “So, we’re together?” He says it tentatively, like he can’t quite believe it and Clarke has to draw him back down into another kiss just to prove to him and herself that yes, they are actually here. 

“Yeah,” she says as she lets him go again. “We’re together. I don’t know what that means to you, but to me… I don’t want to see anyone else or sleep with anyone else. I want it to just be us.”

Bellamy nods. “Always was, with us. At least on my end,” he admits and then kisses down her neck, careful and thoughtful, hums. “And I think… God, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but before this goes any further, we need to tell Octavia.”

“I know,” Clarke sighs and rubs her hands down his back. “I feel like we owe it to her at this point. Take things slow until she’s caught up to speed.”

“Yeah ok, good. I just don’t want to feel guilty for being with you,” Bellamy says and kisses her eyebrow. “And if we started sleeping together again before she knew… I would.” He looks guilty about _that_ and Clarke squeezes the back of neck.

“We’ll tell her, ok?” Clarke says gently. “I’m right there with you. The fact that we’ve hidden this for… nine months? It doesn’t feel good.” 

“Yeah, I want people to know,” he says quietly. “I don’t want to go back to feeling like I have to sneak around to see you.”

“I don’t either,” Clarke says. “I want people to know you’re mine.”

Bellamy chuckles and smooths his hand back over her hair. “Yours, huh?” He kisses her before she can reply and Clarke and feels his grin, tastes his joy as her own.

“Yeah,” she says a bit breathlessly when he lets her up. “I’m thinking matching bracelets, tattoos, color coordinated outfits-”

“Shut up, Clarke,” Bellamy snorts. 

“Make me.” Clarke says, and Bellamy does, kissing her hungry and deep, hands framing her face as he licks over her teeth, tangles his tongue with hers and groans into her mouth when Clarke arches under him, feeling the heat of his cock slide right there against her cunt, right where she so wants him. 

“Shit, you’re wet,” Bellamy mumbles as he drags his mouth away and tucks his face into her neck, breath a little shuddery and damp against her skin, making Clarke shiver. “Making this hard, babe. You’re so goddamn distracting.”

“I’m distracting? You’re distracting,” Clarke tosses back because he is. He’s right there above her, skin and muscle and just being _Bellamy_. He bites at her neck and Clarke gasps and Bellamy growls and Clarke has to dig her teeth into her lip to keep from trying to convince them both to have sex right now.

“Ok, ok,” she says, petting Bellamy’s hair to try to calm herself as well as him. “We tell Octavia. And then we make up for lost time. And then we tell everyone else, when it feels right.”

“Ok,” Bellamy murmurs into her neck. He scrubs a hand through his hair and lifts his head again. He catches her hand as it falls away from his hair and loops it back around his neck after pressing a kiss to her wrist. Clarke smiles up at him, so ridiculously happy she feels like her face is going to break.

“Look at that smile,” Bellamy says softly, a little awed. “Look at you, Clarke. Does this mean I get to take you out now? Buy you things? Do I get to be your boyfriend, Clarke?”

“Yeah, Bellamy,” Clarke says, laughing at Bellamy’s goofy, pleased grin. “Whatever you want.”

“Whatever _we_ want,” Bellamy chuckles and tils her chin up so he can hold her in place for one more kiss, a little more careful, mindful of the fine thread they’re balancing on. “Alright, we’ll figure it out. But you have work, huh?” 

Clarke nods. “Yeah. And you’ve got class.”

“Don’t remind me,” Bellamy groans. “I’m going to need a cold shower before I go anywhere near my students today.”

“They can smell the hormones,” Clarke teases him even as he rolls off her and she sits up, sheets pooling in her lap. “Their thirst feeds off thirst.”

Bellamy gives her a disparaging look. “We’re not talking about my students’ thirst, especially when you’re sitting there looking like that, Clarke. Those are two wires I refuse to have crossed.”

“Looking like what?” Clarke asks innocently, rolling her shoulders back so that her breasts are accentuated and Bellamy looks a little dazed for a moment before he shakes his head.

“I swear to God, Clarke, you are a goddamn menace.”

“Go shower,” Clarke advises him as she climbs out of bed and pulls on the sleep shorts and shirt she hadn’t bothered with last night. “I’ll make us some coffee.” She stands on her tiptoes and Bellamy catches her face in his hands and kisses her.

**

They don’t get to see each other everyday, it’s the simple reality of it. Just because they’ve figured out they’re in love doesn’t mean their schedules miraculously clear up or that Octavia suddenly becomes magically available for them to talk to her. 

Clarke texts her, _Dinner this week? Invite Bellamy?_ And Octavia replies enthusiastically but with a list of obligations she’s committed to between work, Lincoln’s friends and the nights she sets aside to spend with Lincoln. Bellamy agrees they want to aim for a weeknight so they’re less likely to be interrupted by interloping friends, and with such guidelines Clarke manages to get Octavia to agree to the following Wednesday. It’s only a little over a week away but it feels a little bit like agony, a whole eight days to wonder over her best friend’s reaction.

Clarke thinks it’s probably a good thing that they’ve put a brief embargo on sex, as much as she knows they’re both hungry for it, just because it allows them time to figure out the new nuances between them, what being together looks like. Things mostly stay pretty standard between them; they bitch at each other and tease each other, but they learn how to touch each other in ways they couldn’t, ways that were too intimate for anything they’ve been before.

It’s surprisingly easy, though, to fall into being together. The cozy habits between them of touch and understanding, the newly learned ones of communication and commitment, they all fold together naturally into something new and bright that fills Clarke’s chest with buoyant light. It’s a happiness that is in part a familiar ache of being in love with Bellamy and the novel experience of looking up at him and knowing he loves her back. 

Clarke still meets Bellamy at the coffee shop near campus. They could meet at her place, but that has proven to devolve into making out, Bellamy pressing her into whatever happens to be closest, Clarke grabbing at his hair, which is all well and good, but when they won’t let it progress, it becomes more torture than relief. 

It’s easier when they’re out. Clarke can prop her foot in Bellamy’s lap in the coffee shop and he teases her ankle with skimming, blunt nails. Or Bellamy slings an arm over Clarke’s shoulders when they crowd around one end of the table and she laces their fingers together as she shows Bellamy Lonely Island videos that leave them both with annoyingly catchy lyrics to hum under their breath while they work.

They hug. It’s another thing that’s new between them, aside from the single time at their Friendsgiving. Bellamy wraps his arms around Clarke, holds her close to him before they part for the evening, tight enough that Clarke sometimes feels like she could melt right into his chest and stay there contented for as long as he’d let her. He gives her forehead kisses which she matches by putting her lips into the hollow of his throat, soft ways they check in with each other when words feel too heavy handed or obvious. 

They go to Dropship Brewery on Saturday night with their friends and even though Clarke feels guilty about not having told Octavia yet, it feels good to be out and look to up to meet Bellamy’s gaze, warm affection softening the angles of his face. Clarke and Raven take shots, Octavia winds her arms around Clarke’s neck and talks loudly into her ear, tries to get her to go talk to a cute guy by the bar, but Clarke just digs her fingers into Octavia’s ribs and pours her more beer until she gets distracted. Clarke goes back to Bellamy’s apartment that night and lets him slowly press the tension out of her neck with his thumbs, sitting between his legs on the bed and scratching her nails lightly down his calves as they talk about little things. He kisses her neck until they both need to take cold showers.

The day before they’re set to go to Octavia’s for dinner, Bellamy leans on Clarke’s counter, keeping her company while she’s set herself to some mild stress baking. 

“Hey,” Bellamy says when Clarke smears chocolate and flour across her forehead, rubbing as she spaces out thinking about Octavia and all the ways this could backfire. “Hey, Clarke. Come here.” He lifts himself up to sit on her counter and tugs her to stand between his spread thighs, lets her put her face in his chest and just breath in him in in. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” 

“Just worse case scenario where Octavia disowns us both. Or she gets so mad at us that we end things because of it.”

“Clarke,” Bellamy says quietly. “That’s a lot of worrying. Octavia’s probably not going to be happy we haven’t told her, I’ll give you that. But I can tell you now, there’s no reason she’d have against us being together that would be strong enough for me to end things, okay? We haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I know,” Clarke sighs, curling her fingers into Bellamy’s belt loops, tucking her thumbs under his shirt so she can trace his hip bones. “But she’s going to be upset.”

“Maybe,” Bellamy agrees. “But only because she couldn’t meddle in it. It’s O, Clarke. She just wants to be included. You know she hates feeling like the last to know about these things.”

“Yeah, but that’s what worries me,” Clarke says softly. “We’re the ones she’s closest to, she’s going to feel like this is personal.”

Bellamy sighs and cups Clarke’s face, tilting her chin up gently so she’s looking up at him. “We both know Octavia has strong reactions. But she also loves us, right? Whatever goes down, she’ll come around.”

“I just want there to be a fix where no one gets hurt by this,” Clarke admits, leaning further into him so she’s pressed in the junction of this thighs.

“I know you do,” he says as he thumbs the chocolate from her forehead and licks half off his thumb before he offers the rest to her. “But we’re doing the best we can, right? It never made sense to tell her before.”

“Yeah, I know.” Clarke says, resigned and tired of worrying. She holds Bellamy’s hand still so she can suck the chocolate off, likes the way his eyes darken and he presses down lightly against her tongue. Bellamy leans down and kisses her around his thumb before he pulls his hand free and cups the back of her head so he can deepen their kiss, tongue tangling hot and slick against her own, his little noise of approval purred against her lips. He leaves Clarke off kilter, wanting more when he finally pulls back and she rocks up on her toes to chase him, unsteady until he squeezes his thighs tight to her hips and his chuckle lost on her tongue, only a little strained. 

“I want you,” Clarke says against his mouth, dipping her thumbs down under the waistline of his jeans, feels his muscles jump.

“Fuck,” Bellamy mutters back and drags his hands down her neck roughly, sweeping over her tits and then squeezing hard at her sides, fingers sharp. “You know how much I want to fuck you, Clarke? Babe, it’s all I think about, huh? All I want to do is get you under me.”

“A day or two more,” Clarke says, thumbing at Bellamy’s lower lip, grinning at the way he groans and drops his head to her shoulder, pulling at strap of her dress so he can fit his mouth over the tendon in her shoulder. “Isn’t it awesome that we’re being good people?” She asks, fighting back her grin as she scratches her fingers against his scalp.

“It’s the worst,” Bellamy whines, petulant even as he nuzzles into her neck, nips at her ear. “Managed to cockblock myself using my little sister. How did I come up with that one?”

“It’s ‘cause you love her,” Clarke reminds him. “You’re being a good brother, Bellamy.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Bellamy says and sits back up fitting his hand under her chin again. “Look at that pretty mouth, though. Clarke, I’m going to wreck you, babe. You remember, right? You remember the way I made you feel good. I did, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Clarke says, cocking her head up at Bellamy. “I… I thought about you. The other morning, to get myself off.” 

“Shit,” Bellamy says, looking a little stunned, fingers flexing. “Tell me about it?”

Clarke leans in to kiss the hollow of his throat, hide her flush and he combs a hand through her hair, gentle, sweet on her. “Shy?” He murmurs in her ear. “It’s alright.”

Clarke shakes her head, and then, “I thought about the way you would eat me out. How good your tongue felt, and your fingers.” She pulls back to look up at Bellamy again. “The way you would suck on my clit? Fuck Bellamy, you always got me so hot.” 

“Yeah?” Bellamy rasps after he swallows hard, his pupils blown. “I make you come like that?”

“Every time.”

“Babe,” Bellamy says hotly, leaning forward again so he can loom right over her, still keeping her in place with his thighs, “You want to know the first thing I’m going to do with you, huh? Do you?”

“Tell me,” Clarke says.

“Clarke, I’m going to lick your clit until you come from that alone. I’m going to get you on my fingers, babe, and I’m going find that spot, you know the one that makes you sound so sweet for me? I’m going to get you off until you can’t think straight. How does that sound?”

Clarke’s mouth is dry but she still manages to tell him, “Really good. I miss your cock too, Bellamy. I miss the way you fuck me.”

“Don’t worry,” Bellamy says, brushing a surprisingly chaste kiss across her lips. “I’ll give that to you too. Now,” he decides, settling his hands on Clarke’s shoulders and giving her a gentle but firm push back. “Finish your baking, Clarke. You stay this close to me and I’m not going to be responsible for any good intentions that I break.”

“Okay,” Clarke agrees, a little dazed. It’s better than being anxious though. She knows whatever happens with Octavia will happen, but at least now she can think of Bellamy’s hot promises waiting for her just on the other side.

**

“Hey!” Octavia says as she opens the door for Clarke, hair done up in a messy bun and wearing a button down plaid shirt Clarke recognizes as Lincoln’s. “You beat Bellamy. I mean, unsurprising, he’s always late.” Octavia grins as Clarke hands her the plate of brownies she made and a bottle of wine. 

“No problem,” Clarke says, setting down her bag. She hates how her heart races, how uncomfortable she feels in her best friend’s presence, can’t wait for the sick feeling of dread to be out of her stomach. She knows the second she tells Octavia she’ll feel better, it’s just now that it’s so close, Clarke wishes she was just looking forward to an evening of lying in Octavia’s lap and sharing a joint, talking about anything but what they have to. “Can I help you cook?”

“Nah,” Octavia dismisses her with a wave her hand. “Lincoln and I prepped it yesterday as part of our night in.”

“Where is he tonight, anyway?” Clarke asks, flopping down on Octavia’s couch with her and accepting Octavia’s feet in her lap happily.

“He and Nyko are grabbing beers, having dude time. You know, bro-stuff.” 

“Sounds like a good night,” Clarke says laughing and runs a finger teasingly up the sole of Octavia’s foot, making her twitch. “How was your day?”

Octavia rambles, talking with her hands, laughing over her own stories in that endearing way that always makes Clarke laugh as well, shouting for Bellamy to come in when he knocks on the door. Bellamy kicks off his shoes and perches on the couch arm next to Octavia, dropping a kiss on her hair and giving Clarke a reassuring smile over Octavia’s head when she looks at him. 

“How you doing?” Bellamy asks Clarke quietly when Octavia hops up to start throwing food into hot saucepans and start the water boiling on her stove.

“Holding up,” Clarke says and reaches furtively for Bellamy’s hand. He catches her fingers and gives them a squeeze, frowning at how cold they are and keeping them trapped in his warm palm.

“So, stressed,” he assesses softly and Clarke nods. “Almost over,” he promises her and thumbs at the back of her hand.

They join Octavia in the kitchen and Bellamy pours them all glasses of wine, teases Octavia and gets in her way, taking the pressure off Clarke to contribute as much, knowing she’s having trouble focusing when she’s as nervous as she is.

Clarke does manage to relax a bit more when they’re eating on Octavia’s kitchen floor as they like to do when it’s informal and easy. She and Octavia egg each other one with stories from school and Bellamy looks in turns both pained and amused at some of their more ridiculous adventures. 

It’s when Clarke is washing dishes in the sink that Octavia says, “So Clarke, I know Sterling didn’t work out, but I thought of another guy I could set you up with. He’s not blond, which I personally think should help the matter, knowing you.”

“Actually,” Clarke says, anxiety fluttering down her arms. She takes a quick, deep breath before she continues. “That’s something I… well, we, wanted to talk to you about, Octavia.”

Octavia has never been slow. She’s one of the sweetest people Clarke knows, the most brave and brash and bold as well, and always, always quick to pick up on things when Clarke’s been vague in the past. “Really,” Octavia says, slowly putting down her wine glass. When Clarke looks at her, there’s a fine, tight tension in the way she holds herself. Her face is unreadable.

“Well go on,” Octavia says after a beat of silence. “Tell me.”

She and Bellamy had agreed that Clarke should be the one to break the news, only because Octavia is more likely to flare bright and angry at Bellamy when she is taken by surprise or hurt. Clarke glances at Bellamy, quick, sees him watching her quietly and he gives her a soft, small nod. She looks back at Octavia.

“Bellamy and I, we’re together,” Clarke says, a little inelegantly. Her words always tend to leave her when faced with the hurt or anger of someone she really cares about.

“Right,” Octavia says, hard and sharp. “How long?”

“O,” Bellamy starts, brusque but still soft. “It’s complicated.”

“How long?” Octavia growls and Clarke closes her eyes.

“This time,” Clarke starts.

“This time?” Octavia snaps, cutting her off. “I’m sorry, this is something that’s a multi-chaptered?” 

“Since New Hampshire,” Bellamy picks up where Clarke left off. “The last night there.”

“I see. And before that?” Octavia asks, bitingly.

Clarke glances at Bellamy, sees the way his jaw is working, stressed and upset over Octavia’s cold, hard demeanor.

“It originally started in August,” Clarke says quietly. Octavia stares at Clarke, a wounded, wild look in her eyes.

“August,” Octavia repeats. “It started in fucking August and this is the first I’m hearing about this? Are you fucking kidding me?”

Octavia gets bigger when she’s mad, manages to grow despite her small size to an intimidating creature of muscle and dark hair and flashing, angry eyes. Clarke loves Octavia, but Octavia’s quick anger has always made her heart race painfully like nothing else.

“It wasn’t like this to begin with, Octavia,” Bellamy cuts in but it’s the wrong thing to say, Clarke sees that right away.

“Oh, what was it, Bellamy?” Octavia whirls on Bellamy and when he looks taken aback it only insenses her further. “Tell me,” she demands.

“It was casual,” Clarke says desperately. “We didn’t want to tell anyone because we didn’t think it would go anywhere.”

Octavia freezes and then slowly looks at Clarke. “Casual. Casual like… when you were with Bill.”

Clarke closes her eyes. “I see,” Octavia says quietly. “Bill didn’t exist, did he?”

“No,” Clarke says. 

“God, Clarke,” Octavia growls. “So not only did you decide that you didn’t want to tell me you were fucking my brother, but you lied to me about it?”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Clarke whispers. 

“I’m supposed to be your best friend,” Octavia snaps. “Try telling me the truth.”

“Octavia,” Bellamy tries again but Octavia shuts him down with a hard look.

“And you,” Octavia sneers. “You think you can just fuck all my friends, Bellamy? You think you can fuck my best friend and not bother telling me? Seriously, what the fuck were you thinking?”

“I didn’t plan on you finding out,” Bellamy snaps, his temper flaring as well and Clarke presses her fingers to her forehead. “Neither Clarke nor I thought it was any of your business at first, and it wasn’t, O. We’re telling you now because it’s more than it was before.”

“Oh, well thanks for finally cluing me in,” Octavia snarls. “Really, both of you are too kind.”

“Stop it,” Clarke tells them both when Bellamy bristles. “Octavia, I know you’re upset, I get why you are, but-”

“Oh, shut up, Clarke,” Octavia scoffs. “You don’t get to rationalize your way out of this. You know what? I’m done with both of you right now. Go home. Go fuck or whatever it is you’re doing and leave me out of it. That’s clearly what you both want.” There’s a catch of threatening tears in her voice when Octavia turns on her heel and storms out the kitchen. Her bedroom door slams and Clarke and Bellamy are left in a deafening silence. 

Clarke puts her face her hand, takes a slow breath and hears Bellamy shift beside her.

“Well that went about as well as expected,” Clarke says after a moment and looks up at Bellamy who looks lost and frustrated.

“Pretty much,” Bellamy sighs and looks at her. “You okay?”

“I think my best friend hates my guts right now,” Clarke says a little shakily. “But I mean, other than that. Are you?”

Bellamy shrugs and Clarke takes the few steps she needs to cross the kitchen and lean against the counter next to him, pressing her side against his. “Hey,” she says softly and Bellamy turns his head to look at her. “It’s Octavia,” she reminds him gently. Now that Octavia knows, there’s a strange, certain calm in Clarke, a clarity that lets her order her thoughts. “We’ll fix this.”

“Yeah,” he says, but his voice is gruff and Clarke wishes she could make him feel better. 

“I’m going to stay,” Clarke tells him softly. “Finish cleaning up and then see if she’ll talk to me again.” Bellamy nods, then lifts his arm and pulls her closer to him, turning his head to put his mouth against her hair. 

“I should probably go, huh?” He asks her, uncertainty clear in his voice and Clarke wonders how many times Bellamy has actually had Octavia be this well and truly pissed at him in his life. If he’s ever felt as guilty about anything as he does about this.

“You can stay, if you want. But I think Octavia probably needs to just talk to us one on one at this point, you know?” Bellamy nods and lets her go. 

“Alright. Let me help you finish cleaning and I’ll head out.” They wash the dishes in silence, Bellamy pointedly turning off the upbeat Pandora station they had on during dinner. He wipes down the counters and then slides up behind Clarke, wrapping his arms around her resting his chin on her shoulder. Clarke reaches up to touch his cheek, press him close to her. 

“Call me if you need me,” Bellamy says. “I’ll probably be up.”

“I will,” Clarke assures him. “But try to get some sleep, ok?”

“Mm, I’ll see what I can do,” Bellamy says and then kisses her cheek, quick and dry. 

Clarke fills a glass with cold tap water and adds some ice cubes to it, and then puts two of her brownies on a plate and knocks quietly on Octavia’s bedroom door.

“I said go home,” Octavia growls from inside but Clarke ignores her and goes in.

Octavia is lying curled on her side on the bed. She doesn’t look up when Clarke comes in but Clarke can see that her eyes are red and bottom lip puffy from her gnawing on it. She’s got an old stuffed animal curled into her chest, the one she always kept on her bed at school. 

“Hey,” Clarke says gently. She puts down the water and plate of brownies on the nightstand next to Octavia and then clambers onto the bed with her. She doesn’t touch her, not yet, just sits next to her legs and traces the swirling flowers on the bedspread. “I thought some chocolate might help.”

“Good thought,” Octavia snaps, “that’ll definitely help me forget that my best friend has been lying to my face for nine months.”

Clarke winces. “I know. Octavia, I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” Octavia asks. “For which part exactly?”

“I’m sorry you’re upset,” Clarke says carefully. “And I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner. You deserved the truth, but please trust me that this is the first time that it actually made sense from my and Bellamy’s perspective to tell you.”

“I actually don’t give a fuck,” Octavia starts, “whether it made sense or not. Clarke, he’s my brother. You’re my best friend. You should have told me right away.”

“Maybe,” Clarke says. “There were points where I almost did. I probably should have, but it hasn’t been straight forward between us.”

“Whatever,” Octavia growls.

Clarke sighs. “Look, I can only say sorry so many times for that part, Octavia. I hear that you’re upset. I can’t change that I didn’t tell you sooner, even if I wish I had. You’ll just have to decide if you can forgive me for it. For the rest of it, I want to talk to you about it. Whatever you want.”

Octavia is darkly silent for a moment. “He’s my brother, Clarke,” she says after a moment. “I think you owe me the truth.”

“Ok,” Clarke says carefully. “What do you want to know?”

“How did it start?” Octavia asks viciously, “Was he just there so you decided to fuck him?”

“Yeah, at first,” Clarke snaps, hurt and then reigns herself in. “He was there, and he was my type and Raven had told me he was good. So yeah, Octavia, at first it was just fucking. But you know what? I got to know him and I spent time with him and I liked him. It grew from there. Neither of us expected it to.”

“Original,” Octavia drawls and Clarke sighs.

“It’s what happened, Octavia.”

“What about all of January? I fucking see things, Clarke,” she adds when Clarke takes a soft breath. “I knew you were upset about something. I knew there was something weird going down between you two. And I know I asked you what was wrong. You wouldn’t tell me.”

“There was a failure of communication,” Clarke tells her. “We worked it out, Octavia. I didn’t tell you at that point because I didn’t want to give you any reason to feel like you had to chose between me and Bellamy.”

“Generous of you,” Octavia snarls. 

“Octavia, I don’t know what you want me to say,” Clarke says. “Everything I try, you shoot down.”

“I don’t want you to say anything!” Octavia snaps. “Clarke, you went behind my back and had a fucked up relationship with my brother that resulted in you two having some bizarro meltdown that could have ended our friendship. And now you’re back at it. What the fuck is that about? Do you have any respect for me or my family at all?”

“Of course I do!” Clarke says, shocked. “Octavia, I would never want to come between you and Bellamy.”

“Sure. That’s why you’re with him again.”

“I’m with him because I love him,” Clarke says desperately. “This wasn’t meant to hurt you, Octavia. Just because I’m dating your brother doesn’t mean I don’t love you just as much as I always have. How can I prove that to you?

“If I told you to break up with him, would you?”

“No!” The force of it startles them both and Octavia rolls to look at her. Clarke takes a breath. “Octavia, no. I just… look, if it was just still sex between me and Bellamy, then yeah, I would. You’ve been my best friend for six years, and I would do anything for you. But you wouldn’t actually ask that if you knew what was between us.” 

“How the hell am I supposed to know what’s going on between you two if you couldn’t trust me enough to tell me these things? I mean, what the fuck, Clarke.” Octavia snaps, but her voice is rough and when Clarke looks up at her face, she’s fighting back tears.

“You think I don’t trust you?” Clarke asks, taken aback. “Octavia…”

“Of course that’s what I think!” Octavia says and rubs at her eyes with the back of her hand. “You’ve shut me out of your life, my brother’s life… you both know everything about me, but suddenly you’re telling me that you guys are in love. Like where the fuck did that come from? What did you think I was going to do that you were so afraid to tell me? Am I that volatile?”

Clarke is speechless. 

“And now,” Octavia says, choking, “Tonight, you both looked at me like I was crazy, like you regret telling me. Do you know how shitty that feels, Clarke? To feel like two of the people I love best think I’m unstable because I’m surprised and rightfully angry? It’s not fair.”

Clarke feels tears rise fast and sharp to her eyes in the face of Octavia’s own and she swallows. She remembers how awful and gut wrenchingly betrayed she had felt when she found out about Raven and the fact that she was dating somebody else’s boyfriend. Finn had been in Clarke’s life for five months, and that betrayal has messed with Clarke’s head for far longer even after she’d cut Finn out. She can only imagine how sickening this must feel to Octavia: her closest people the ones lying to her.

“You’re right,” Clarke says, fighting down her own tears because Octavia doesn’t need her crying as well. “It wasn’t fair to you at all. But it wasn’t because I didn’t trust you, Octavia. I didn’t trust myself, ok? If people had known about me and Bellamy, back when we first started hooking up, I know I would have found a reason to stop sleeping with him. I would have felt like everything we did was being watched or judged and I would have panicked. You know me, you know how fucked my headspace was around relationships after Finn and Lexa. 

“If there had ever been any outside expectation that Bellamy and I would get together, I know we wouldn’t have: neither of us trusted ourselves or each other enough that we would have been strong enough to keep what we felt separate from our everyone else’s opinion.”

Octavia takes a shaky, sad breath and Clarke touches her thigh, rubs a hand along her hip gently.

“I trust you and love you so much, Octavia. You have been there for me through everything, and you’re right, I probably should have told you the truth, but if I had, it would be over between me and Bellamy. I can’t see a scenario where we could have given you what you deserved from us and still gotten together, and that’s on us, ok? You have every right to be pissed at us, I won’t try to talk you out of that.”

“Good,” Octavia says, teary and stubborn, but there’s something behind her eyes, something softer, willing to listen.

“Can I tell you something?” Clarke asks her quietly, still running her palm up and down Octavia’s leg. Octavia only hesitates for a moment before nodding. “Do you remember what you said to me, back when we were talking about my sad, pathetic love life? You told me I shouldn’t be afraid to fall in love, right? You told me that I was going to find someone worth being in love with. And I trusted you on that. I trusted you enough to trust myself and trust Bellamy when I realized how I felt about him, this time around. 

“I never thought we would end up where we are, please believe that, but we are here in part because I have you in my life, Octavia.”

“So tell me where you are,” Octavia says softly. 

“We’re…” Clarke starts and stops to think. Think about the way Bellamy lights up her chest and mind and whole body. The way she’s started to reach for him with more than her body, reach for him with her mind when he’s close; the way they can look at each other and get each other in ways deeper than words could ever communicate. How is she supposed to explain that?

“I don’t know if I can put words on it. You deserve words, I know. You deserve full, complete explanations of everything, but I can’t give you one about Bellamy. The way we fit together, the ways we think alike, the ways we don’t… it just all comes together. And I… he makes me better. I can’t imagine my life without him, not anymore. What we have, it’s deeper than sex or friendship or anything. I feel ridiculous with how much I love him.”

Octavia is quiet but she looks at Clarke for a long time. “You love him?” She asks at last.

“Yeah,” Clarke says, a little helpless when the smile spreads across her face. “Yeah, Octavia. I love him.”

Octavia searches her face, careful. “What happens if you two fuck it up again?”

“I don’t know,” Clarke says. “But I do believe that no matter what happened between us, Bellamy and I would always respect our individual relationship with you more than whatever could come between us. If it ended, I know we’d work the hardest we possibly could to stay in each other’s lives and not have you be caught in the middle.”

Octavia nods slowly against the pillow. “I’m still mad at you,” Octavia says slowly. “Like super mad. But you sound stupid when you talk about him, and I’ve never heard you talk about anyone like that before. So… I don’t love it, but if you actually think you love my idiot brother enough to sound like that, there’s not much I can do.”

“You can be mad at me as long want,” Clarke tells her. “And I will buy you brunch for the next month.”

“Two months?” Octavia tries and when Clarke looks at her, Octavia is pressing back a small smile between her lips.

“Mm, Bellamy will cover the second month,” Clarke laughs. “Octavia, can I hug you now?”

“Yeah, alright,” Octavia says. “Come cuddle me. Let me stew in my anger in your arms.” Clarke crawls behind her and wraps her arms around Octavia’s waist, tucks her chin on her shoulder. Octavia finds Clarke’s hand and interlaces their fingers.

“You’re still my favorite Blake,” Clarke says. “Nothing’s going to change that.”

“Better not,” Octavia whispers. “Because you’re still my favorite Griffin.” 

“Good. I’m glad there aren’t other Griffins around to replace me.”

“I mean, I’m sure I could find some,” Octavia says. “But I still like the model I got. Even if she’s an idiot who’s in love with my brother.”

Clarke tucks her smile into Octavia’s back. Octavia saying it aloud makes Clarke’s heart flutter. “Yeah, I can’t deny that part.”

“Oh shut up,” Octavia mutters. “God, you two are going to be one of those infuriating couples, aren’t you?”

“No worse than you and Lincoln,” Clarke protests. 

“Lincoln and I are cute,” Octavia says airily. “You and Bell are gross by default. But I guess I’ll have to learn to live with it. Just please don’t tell me about sex. Ever.”

“Really?” Clarke asks and Octavia kicks back at her legs.

“Really. Really, really. So much really that I cannot emphasise it enough.”

“But you love my sex stories,” Clarke teases her and Octavia shakes her head emphatically against the pillow.

“Not any more. Your sex stories are banned. You can sit and listen quietly when Raven and I talk about sex and regret your decision to date my brother. That’s your penance.”

“I can only do half that,” Clarke tells her and Octavia sighs.

“Already infuriating,” Octavia decides.

Lincoln finds them asleep together, Clarke pressed along Octavia’s back, legs fit in behind her knees. Clarke wakes up when he settles in bed on the other side of Octavia, giving them space. 

“Hey,” she whispers. “Sorry.”

Lincoln smiles at her and shakes his head. “You’re good, Clarke. Go back to sleep.”

**

Bellamy finds the back of Clarke’s neck and squeezes it gently. “Hey,” he says, just loud enough for her to hear over her music. Clarke turns her face up to him and he brushes his lips over her forehead, gives her a little, affectionate shake. 

“How’d it go?” Clarke asks as Bellamy flops down in the chair across from her at their table. She’s bought him an unseasonal slice of pumpkin pie and passes it across the table to him. Bellamy shrugs as he takes the plate from her, then catches her hand, curling his fingers through her own, seeking her touch. 

“Bad?” Clarke asks.

“No, not bad,” Bellamy says. “Just… I don’t know what to do with myself when I can’t immediately make her feel better. But honestly, maybe better than I expected.” Bellamy studies her face for a moment and then leans forward. “You know, this is probably years overdue, but thank you, Clarke. Before you, there wasn’t anyone Octavia felt she could vent her anger to, talk to beside me, you know? I know lunch would have been a lot worse if you hadn’t already talked to her. And the parts that were rough, I know they were that way because you mean as much to her as you do. I’m really glad O has you.”

“I love her,” she says simply and Bellamy nods. 

“I know you do.”

“Are you two ok?” Clarke asks him softly.

“Ok is probably the best word for it. She’s not a huge fan that we slept together for so long without her knowing, but…” Bellamy shrugs. “She seems to have come to the conclusion that we’re good for each other, so she’s technically given me her blessing to be with you.” He shakes his head, a smile touching his face. “Meeting your mom is going to have nothing on this.”

“Mm, don’t underestimate my mom.” Clarke teases and he rolls his eyes. “But yeah, Octavia’s fierce. Did she fill you in on the brunch penance plan?”

“Yeah, two months each?” Bellamy asks and Clarke laughs.

“I had settled with one month each, but man, if she got two months out of you, I’m not going to correct her.”

“It’s that best friend favoritism. I knew it was going to bite me in the ass,” Bellamy says with a roll of his eyes and teases his fingers across her palm. It’s such a simple action but it sends sparks up Clarke’s arm, feeling the drag of his fingers against her. Her stomach flips, just a bit, and when she looks up at Bellamy, his eyes are on her face, hungry. He’s felt that spark too.

It hits Clarke sudden and low in her stomach that this is it. There’s no reason why the can’t go back to her place, just a short ten minute walk, and she can’t have him back inside her, can’t have the muscles of his back bunching under hands as he fucks her. It must show on her face because Bellamy leans forward, hand circling her wrist. “What are you thinking, babe? What’s that look?”

“We didn’t have any rules about how long we had to wait after we told Octavia, right?” Clarke asks, leaning forward as well, propping her chin in her hand.

Bellamy shakes his head again, small and quick, smirk stark on his face and Clarke desperately wants to bite him. “If we did, I’ve conveniently forgotten them all.”

“Bellamy-” Clarke starts and he gives her wrist a gently squeeze.

“Think we can make it through an hour of work or do we need to go right now?” He teases her and Clarke shakes her head, grinning at him.

“I think we can survive an hour.”

Surviving is probably the right word for it. Clarke keeps her foot pressed against Bellamy’s under the table, hyperaware of every time he shifts in his seat, spaces out over her textbook thinking about tasting the sweat that gathers along his collarbone when they go a long while. It’s honestly torturous and Clarke doesn’t think she retains anything that she writes down because she keeps thinking of what Bellamy’s promised her. Bellamy finally flips the last quiz over into the stack of completed grading, and very slowly caps his pen, looks up at her.

“Ok,” he says slowly. “I’m set.”

“Well I’m going to need at least another half an hour,” Clarke says not looking up from her book but she can’t keep the grin off her face

“Is that so?” Bellamy laughs, leans back in his chair and folds his arms behind his head. It makes the definition of his muscles pop, makes his chest look so good under his shirt. Clarke forgets to respond, distracted and he chuckles. “Can I take you home now?”

“Yeah,” Clarke says and when Bellamy’s smile turns feral, she practically slams her textbook closed, nearly bends her notebook in her rush to get everything in her bag, because oh my god, she’s going to have Bellamy in her bed again and everything that comes with that.

Clarke’s not sure exactly how they make it back to her apartment, but she has the sensory memory of sunlight and sweet air on her skin as she’s searching for her keys for her door when Bellamy catches her shoulder and stops her, pressing her back against the solid wood.

“Hold on a second,” Bellamy murmurs as he cages her in and ducks his head. The kiss he gives her is heart breakingly sweet, his mouth moving sure but slow against hers, intimate in its tenderness. He pulls back for just a moment until she leans forward to follow him and then he kisses her again. It’s just as slow and gentle as the first one and he strokes her cheek, strokes over her ear and down her neck, fingers light as he smiles into her mouth at her sigh. Even shivering with anticipation, Clarke feels a bit like she’s melting into him and lazily drapes her forearms on his shoulders, sneaks her fingers under the loose collar of his shirt to touch the skin of his shoulder. 

When he finally lets her go after a last, lingering press of his lips against hers, Clarke knows she’s a little slow in opening her eyes, a little drugged out on his kiss. “Well hey,” she murmurs when she finds him close and studying her face as he tucks a loose wave of her hair behind her ear.

“Hey,” he whispers back. “I love you.” It’s the first either of them has said it to each other since they’ve fallen back into their lives in DC. They haven’t needed to vocalize it, the truth and presence of it in everything they do together. Hearing Bellamy say it now makes Clarke’s heart thud bright and happy in her chest. Bellamy matches the smile that’s on her face, bumps his forehead lightly against hers before he straightens. “Find your keys, babe.”

Clarke lets them into her apartment and there’s a moment of stillness after she sets her bag down where she and Bellamy just take each other in. Something quivers in the air between them and then Bellamy takes the two steps to reach her and wraps his arms around her waist, lifts her up against his chest as she laughs in surprise and kisses her, hungry and all consuming. He hasn’t kissed her like this in a long while, fierce and hot and a little mean with the way he tugs on her lip with his teeth. Clarke’s hands can’t settle: she finds his hair, his face, his neck, his back. She wants to touch all of him, is frustrated she can’t.

Bellamy shifts and keeps her up tight against him with just one arm, taking her weight on his chest as he leans back a bit, his other hand curling into her hair, tugging when she bites at his mouth and she gasps, pulling a bit against the sting to chase the sweet pain of it.

When Bellamy teases his tongue along her bottom lip, flicks it against her own, Clarke gives it a soft, quick suck, humming quietly in contentment. Bellamy groans, sets her back down so he can frame her face in his hands to hold her still, kiss her deeper and more demanding. She drops her hands to his belt, impatient and Bellamy half laughs, half swears as she undoes his button flies with a vicious jerk. She gets her hand on him and holy shit, he’s so hot and hard already, hips stuttering against her when she grips his cock tight. He feels so good in her hand that she moans into his mouth, gives him a long, slow stroke.

“You want me to fuck you on your bed?” Bellamy asks her, voice pitched dirty-low as he gathers her hair in his fist again, giving it a tug. “Because I’m going to fuck you right here in the next ten seconds if you keep that up, Clarke. Your choice.”

“Bed,” Clarke whines, not wanting to let him go but needing to see him spread out across her dark sheets that always made him look so good. “Bellamy, bedroom.”

“Alright, babe, alright. Come on.” He doesn’t really let her go, hands too possessive and greedy on her waist and stomach to make getting there easy. Clarke wants to tease him about it, but it’s driving her crazy too: they’ve been so careful about touching each other, respecting their boundaries that now that there are none left, she can’t get enough of the way he grabs at her, the way he wants her. Bellamy’s going to have his hands all over her: on her tits, her ass, fingers fucking into her cunt just the way he knows she likes and yeah, bed is so the right call if she could only get them there. 

When they stumble into her bedroom door frame he makes a dark noise in his throat and pins her there. He kisses her as he unbuttons her shirt, fingers moving fast over the small pearly buttons and then slide hot and appreciative over her ribs to her back where he palms her, uses the heel of his hand to make her arch further into his body, her tits pressed into his chest, her nipples already tight and peaked through her soft bra. “Shit, Clarke,” Bellamy mutters. “God I’ve missed your tits.”

He undoes the clasp of her bra one-handed and just slides both his hands under the flimsy material. His thumbs stroke over her nipples, light at first and then harder, dragging the slightly calloused pads across them quick and fast. “Oh, babe,” Bellamy chuckles when Clarke moans, wraps a leg around his thigh to pull him closer because she needs something against her clit, needs Bellamy so bad. “I know, I know, I remember how good that makes you feel. So fucking sensitive.” He pinches one of her nipples lightly, harder when she rocks into his thigh again and he presses his leg rough and firm back into her, fucks his tongue into her mouth. 

“God, Bellamy,” Clarke whimpers when he lets her breath, biting kisses down her neck instead, sinking his teeth into her shoulder just hard enough that it makes her gasp. “I need you to fuck me.”

“Nuh-uh,” Bellamy laughs into her neck, flexing against her cunt again. “I already told you what we’re doing first, babe.” His fingers are still working her nipples, still squeezing her tits as Bellamy’s breath sends goosebumps across her neck, makes her stomach flip and Clarke can only manage to arch further into him, she needs him that bad.

“Sweet thing,” Bellamy croons at her when she whines high in her throat, frustrated. “You’ll get what you need, Clarke. I’m going to take care of you.”

For all they can’t let go of each other, they somehow find the bed and Bellamy crowds her back onto it, using his body to guide her even as he pushes her shirt off her shoulders and catches the straps of her bra to pull them down her arms. The heat of him disappears for a moment as he tugs off her sandals and Clarke actually misses him, reaches to pull him back down and he laughs into her mouth when he comes back and blankets her, using his full weight to press her into the mattress. Clarke catches the back of his head and keeps him still and close so she can kiss him more fully, fingers trembling when she curls them around his ears and strokes the sensitive skin right behind them. Bellamy sighs at the light touch and something settles between them, still desperate and wanting, but slower, more confident, less rushed.

When Clarke lets him go, she tugs at the collar of his shirt. “Off,” she demands. “I want to feel your skin, Bellamy. I want to feel you.”

“Whatever you want,” Bellamy says with a grin and knees up so he can get his shirt off. God, Clarke’s missed his chest, the way he looks: rumpled and masculine and tough and _hers_. She skates her nails up his chest and Bellamy huffs, twitching when she finds his nipples. He catches her hands, brings them to his mouth and gives her fingers a smacking kiss before he guides them over her head, keeping her wrists trapped in one hand. 

“You touch me too much, Clarke, and I’m going to get distracted, huh?” Bellamy breathes over her mouth. “And I’ve been thinking about how good your cunt tastes. You don’t want to deny me that, babe, do you?”

“No,” Clarke exhales, “no, Bellamy. Please, please lick my cunt.”

“God,” Bellamy laughs, “Fuck, Clarke. Do you know what it does to me when you talk like that? Gets me so hot, babe, so fucking hot.” He’s kissing down her neck, words rumbling into her skin, pauses to bite at the curve of her breast, sucks her nipple into his mouth hard, grinning at her gasps and the way she arches under him. “You gonna be good for me and keep them up there?” He asks, hand flexing on her wrists.

“Oh no please,” Clarke whines back. “I want to touch you, Bellamy. Let me touch you.”

Bellamy groans and lets her wrists go. “So sweet, Clarke. You’re so sweet. How can I say no to my girl when she sounds like that?”

“I really hope you won’t,” Clarke laughs shakily as she squeezes Bellamy’s shoulder and runs her other hand as far down his back as she can reach. He grins at her, boyish, ducks up to give her a quick peck which turns into a deeper, wet kiss when Clarke pouts as he pulls away. 

“Mm, that mouth,” Bellamy mumbles, eyes hot as he watches Clarke sink her teeth into her bottom lip and then shakes head. “Later, later.”

He pulls back to get her shorts open, looks momentarily frustrated that he has to strip off the black tights she’s worn underneath as well before he’s got her down to just a pair of her lacy blue boyshorts. Clarke watches his eyes go dark as he catches sight of the way her panties are wet from how keyed up she is. Clarke props herself up and reaches for his still undone jeans.

“Take these off for me too?” She asks and Bellamy does, strips down to just his boxer-briefs, dark grey and pulled tight over the hard outline of his cock. Clarke wants to suck him off so bad but settles for giving him a quick rub instead, squeezing lightly at the head of his dick trapped against his thigh and Bellamy grunts, catches her hand. 

“Clarke,” Bellamy actually whines. “Driving me crazy. Let me get these off, let me see you.” He nudges her back so that he can get her panties over her hips and pulls them down her thighs, reverent about it. “So fucking gorgeous. I mean, shit, babe,” Bellam breathes, making room at the end of the bed so he can settle on his stomach between her thighs. 

He runs his hands up her legs but instead of finding her cunt, he curves them up over her hipbones and strokes lightly over her stomach, affectionate. He leans up to give her a kiss just under her belly button, nuzzles her stomach lightly before he pulls away, and it make Clarke’s breath hitch, caught out by the old gesture of Bellamy’s affection. He looks up at her, eyes warm, rests his chin lightly on her belly and smiles at her, soft, still hungry, but right there with her.

“Hey,” Clarke says a little shaky, smoothing a hand back through his hair, scritching at his scalp. “Hey, Bellamy.” 

He tilts his head into her touch, eyes falling half closed. “This good? We good?” He murmurs softly to her and Clarke nods.

“We’re good, Bellamy. This is so good.” Clarke she grabs a pillow and passes it down to him, lifts her hips so he can settle it under her. He fits his teeth carefully into the thin skin of her hip, worries it a bit, sucks, intent on leaving a mark while he strokes his fingers light and quick over her cunt.

“Shit,” Bellamy says into her skin. “Clarke, you get so wet. I haven’t even touched you yet and you’re soaked for me.”

“So touch me,” Clarke whines, “Bellamy, touch me.”

“You know,” Bellamy laughs, pinching her leg, “I forgot how bossy you get when I get you hot.” Clarke scrunches her nose up at him and he rolls his eyes at her and works his thumbs gently over her outer lips, pressing down harder and spreading her open as Clarke whimpers.

“Oh babe,” Bellamy breaths out low, mouth right above where she wants him. “Just look at your pretty cunt.” He does that infuriating thing he’s always done: rubs his thumbs over her labia and around her clit but not actually bearing down. Clarke whines, tugs at his hair.

“Please, please, Bellamy,” Clarke begs him. “Please I want it so bad.”

“Ok, ok,” Bellamy says, kissing her thigh. “You’re okay.” And then he’s giving her what she wants, dragging his tongue up from over her entrance all the way up to her clit, barely hesitating before he does it again and then settles his mouth right there, right on her clit and giving her a long, slow suck. Bellamy actually whines at her taste, just audible over Clarke’s own hot, shocked noise. God it feels good. Bellamy’s mouth is always so good, hot and wet and sure, the way his tongue flicks over her, the way it rolls slowly, just a little rough, just dirty enough in the way he groans as she arches under him to make her stomach flip, make her pull on his hair hard. Oh but she’s missed this, missed him, missed feeling taken care of.

Bellamy laps at her, gives her long thorough licks, tugs her clit between his lips and hums so that Clarke thrashes, lashes his tongue across her punishingly until Clarke is whimpering high in her throat, shaking on the bed and pulling Bellamy’s head closer. He groans into her and it vibrates through her.

“More?” Bellamy asks, voice rough and bit lost. “Want me to fill you up?”

“Yeah,” Clarke answers, a little mindless. “More.”

Bellamy sinks two fingers into her fast and has to drape an arm across her hips to keep her from bucking up too hard as he crooks them. It takes a moment for the muscle memory to come back, but then he’s grinding up and into her perfectly and Clarke is shuddering, squirming, over whelmed. “Oh yeah, babe,” Bellamy breathes. “There we go.” He gets his mouth back on her, drags his tongue sloppy and wet over her clit.

Clarke feels it rising, the slowfast build toward coming on Bellamy’s fingers and tongue, body tightening, drawing up. Clarke arches against Bellamy’s mouth, bites her lip, when in the back of mind, something curls, dark and chilling. 

_Look ridiculous_ , Bellamy’s voice sneers in her head, cruel. Clarke’s body tenses, dread dropping chilling and cool through her, freezing her breath in her lungs. _I’ve never seen one I thought was hot_. 

Fuck, fuck. As quickly as her orgasm was approaching, it dissipates.

Clarke shakes her head, tries to focus back on the way Bellamy is sucking on her, taping his fingers in the way she used to love inside her, a one-two rhythm. But when he flicks his eyes up to her face, Clarke’s stomach plummets painfully. She tosses her arm over her face, tries to slow her breath, refocus herself in her body.

“Clarke?” Bellamy asks, stilling his fingers.

“Yeah, yeah,” Clarke says, flexing her hips against him, but it feels it wrong. Shit. Shit, not this. Not now.

Bellamy can tell something’s up. He pulls his fingers free from her gently and rubs at her thigh, questioning. “Clarke, can you look at me?”

It makes Clarke’s chest hurt and suddenly she doesn’t know if she can without crying. Bellamy’s right here with her, soft and warm and sweet, but all she can see are his distant eyes and the soft cruelty curling under his old, forgotten words. She shakes her head mutely and Bellamy makes a noise, lost. He pulls himself up the bed and lies next to her.

“Hey, Clarke,” he says gently, settling his hand carefully on her stomach. “Clarke, babe, what’s going on? Where’s your head?”

“Bellamy,” Clarke whispers and finds the words are stuck in her throat, shakes her head, swallowing.

Bellamy very carefully catches the hand she’s using to cover her eyes and pulls it into his own. He studies her face and Clarke can barely meet his eyes, shame and guilt curling in her chest and stomach, feeling so small. Bellamy sits up and grabs the sheets, carefully draws them up over both of them, tucking them around Clarke’s chest and lying back down next to her, tentatively pressing his lips to her shoulder, letting her collect herself.

“I…” How is she supposed to tell him this? She knows he didn’t mean it, knows it came from a place of anger and hurt and loss. She doesn’t want to admit she can’t move past something she she’s already rationally dismissed. But it’s there, settled deep in her mind, intrinsically linked to her pleasure. She almost can’t voice it, too ashamed, but when she glances at Bellamy and sees the concern and underlying fear in his eyes she takes a deep breath and steels herself. “I just… I’m not sure I can get off, Bellamy.”

“Am I doing something wrong?” Bellamy asks her softly even though his voice is rough and worried. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no,” Clarke says. “It was all good. I’m sorry, I’m sorry this is stupid.”

“Stop,” Bellamy says. “Stop, it’s not. Whatever’s going on, it’s not. You can tell me, Clarke.” Clarke nods but the words still won’t come to her and she feels herself tear up, shame and frustration and fear spiraling tighter and tighter in her chest. “Can I touch you?” Bellamy asks softly. Clarke nods and Bellamy carefully slips an arm under her head, tugs her close to his chest so she can tuck her face into his neck.

He lets her catch her breath there, strokes his hand over her head gently, rests his chin on her temple. She can feel the flutter of his heart in his chest, rapid, so unlike the usual slow beat she finds so comforting. She places her hand over his heart, trying to sooth them both.

“I just… it just came back to me,” Clarke finally manages to say. “When we were fighting. About… about…” Clarke can’t say it. “What you said about the faces people make when they come.”

There’s a beat and then Bellamy draws a ragged breath, his whole body tensing against hers. “Oh fuck, Clarke,” he says and sounds absolutely destroyed. “God.”

Bellamy’s arms constrict around her, one hand going to her hair and the other wrapping around her back, holding her closer against him. “I’m so sorry, Clarke,” he says into her hair. “I’m so sorry.” There’s such bitterness in Bellamy’s voice, self loathing and guilt and grief that it makes Clarke’s chest ache. She presses her palm more firmly against his heart, wishing she could ease that pain, knowing this is only making it worse.

“I don’t hold it against you,” Clarke says softly. “You know I’ve put all that shit behind us. I haven’t been dwelling on it, Bellamy, I promise. I’m sorry.”

Bellamy is suddenly urging her away from him and Clarke half panics and holds tighter, wanting to keep him close, not wanting to be left alone with the way she feels, but Bellamy is only drawing her back enough so that he can see her face.

“Clarke, why the hell are you apologizing?” Bellamy’s eyes are stormy with emotion but there’s a softness there too, the way he eyes always go when he looks at her. He’s so gentle when he combs the hair out of her face.

“Because…” Clarke doesn’t really know how to verbalize what she’s feeling. It’s the combination of shame of not being able to move past something she rationally knows Bellamy never meant; the guilt of what she’d thrown back at Bellamy, that she hadn’t been able to get off under his attentions, which now feels like a self-fulfilling prophecy; and her own deep seated fear of not being able to reconnect with Bellamy in this way that brought them together in the first place. “I want to be able to come for you,” is all she really manages to say. “I’m going to fix this, I promise.”

“Fix this?” Bellamy asks, confused. “You’re not broken, Clarke. No, hey, listen to me,” he says when Clarke drops her eyes from his. “Clarke, babe, I want to make you come because I love making you feel good, ok? Jesus, how could I not? Do you… do you think I’m going to be upset if you don’t get off?”

“I don’t know,” Clarke says. “No, not upset,” she says when Bellamy frowns a bit at her answer. “I just thought this was going to be the easiest part for us, you know?”

“I know. God, I know,” Bellamy murmurs and runs his thumb along her collarbone. “But I need you to know that being close to you like this, making you feel good anyway I can, that’s already so much more that I ever thought I was going to get to have with you again. And I’m… I’m fucking pissed at myself that I said all that to you when that was never the case, Clarke, I never thought that. You’re always so fucking beautiful, and when you come, babe? Blows me away.”

Bellamy drops his forehead against hers, eyes on her. Clarke looks back at him, watches him consider her carefully, thinking through his next words. She finds his hand and laces her fingers through his.

“But I fucked up, ok?” Bellamy continues. “And it’s killing me that it’s keeping you from getting off, but not for my sake. I just want you to feel as good as I can make you, want you to feel like you can trust me again to get you there.”

“I do trust you,” Clarke says quietly but she knows what he means. She’s formed a block, a lingering, visceral fear that she can’t rationalize away or talk herself out of. “Thank you, though. For saying all of that.”

Bellamy shakes his head like he doesn’t really understand why she’s thanking him. “Clarke, of course. I want to work on this with you. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Ok,” Clarke whispers and suddenly realizes how much she needs Bellamy, needs to be close to him right now. “Can you kiss me?”

“Of course,” Bellamy whispers. “God, of course, Clarke. Come here.” He draws her close again and curls a hand around her jaw, holding her as he ducks his head and presses his lips to hers. It’s slow and gentle, a bitter sweetness in it that slowly warms the cold terror in Clarke’s chest, slowly grounds her back here with Bellamy, whom she loves and is loved by.

She feels the tension ebb from her shoulders, feels herself relax carefully back into his body as they find their way back to each other, falling into the familiar, grounding rhythm of kissing. When Clarke sighs shakily against Bellamy’s mouth, he drops his hand to her stomach again, rubs his palm slowly back and forth, comforting.

“What can I do?” Bellamy says at last, barely moving far enough back to speak. “What do you need from me right now, Clarke?”

“I want you,” Clarke says. “Bellamy, I want you inside me.”

“Yeah?” Bellamy breathes, the slight puff of air against her mouth at once everything and not enough.

Clarke nods, traces her finger down the bridge of Bellamy’s nose, over his lips again where he catches and kisses her finger, pulls her hand to hold against his chest. “I still want to have sex with you,” Clarke says. “It’ll still feel good, being with you, even if I can’t come.”

“Whatever you want,” Bellamy says. “I’ll follow your lead.” He crooks his elbow up so he can kiss her again and Clarke kisses him back, chest aching for them both.

“I love you,” Clarke tells him when he pulls back.

Bellamy exhales shakily and gives her a quick, full-lipped kiss before he nods. “Love you too.” 

He tilts her head back and mouths at her neck, sweet on her and easy until it makes Clarke’s breath catch again, until the slow drag of his hands across her stomach and breasts and down her thighs make her lingering dread recede back, replaced with the warmth of his closeness and her need for him.

“Come on,” Clarke whispers, “Bellamy, now.”

“Mm, alright, beautiful,” Bellamy breathes into her neck. 

Clarke finds a condom in her drawer and rolls it down Bellamy’s cock, slicks him up with lube and tugs until he’s braced over her. When he sinks into her, slow and gentle and makes a soft noise into her shoulder, Clarke feels like she’s coming home. Bellamy fits his hands under her head on the pillow, holds her as he gently rocks into her, unhurried, brushing his lips along her cheekbone, her forehead, her chin, kissing her deep and heavy, making her gasp under his mouth. It feels so right. Clarke feels full and overwhelmed and just where she’s supposed to be, under and around and close to Bellamy.

“Feel so good, Clarke,” Bellamy says into her skin. “God, you’re so beautiful. Love you so much. So much.” 

They go for a long time, breathing evening out and falling in sync with one another’s. Bellamy’s deep inside her without any rush to come, mouthing at her neck and collarbone, pressing his face into her skin whenever her breath hitches or she gasps at the right slow grind of his cock. Clarke’s body is shivering, saturated with the emotional intimacy and physical pleasure, not building towards anything but still good, still so fucking perfect that Clarke knows her eyes get a little wet, but that’s ok too. Bellamy’s fingers keep her cheeks dry. 

It can’t last. Even as long as they manage, it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. Bellamy’s breath gets ragged, muscles twitching under her touch, mouth a little frantic against hers even as he tries to hold himself back. “Shit,” he groans. “Babe, I can’t-fuck, you feel too good.”

“It’s okay, Bellamy,” Clarke whispers, curling her legs up around his hips, pulling him in deeper. “Come on, let go for me.”

“Christ,” Bellamy whispers against her. “Fucking Christ, the way you make me feel.” He works his hips a bit faster, fucks into her a little rougher, everything silvery bright and glowing. When he comes, it’s without a sound but his body convulses, face hidden in the junction of her neck and shoulder and Clarke runs her hands firm and sure down his back, pets him and sooths him until his breath stops sounding so ragged, until his heartbeat drops back down to match the still elevated rate of her own. 

Clarke draws him up and the way he kisses her, lazy and deep and sloppy after sex is so familiar that she finds she’s laughing, bubbling and clear against his mouth, and it’s okay. They’re still here, they’re still themselves; just have a few more jagged edges revealed, have a little more room to fit closer together again.

Bellamy’s mouth curves up under her own, grinning and he chuckles as well. “Yeah, babe?”

Clarke hums his name and the way his eyes go hotsoft makes her just want to keep him inside her for as long as she can have him.

“Can we just stay like this?” She asks. “Just for a little while longer.”

“What a hardship,” Bellamy teases her. “Jesus, the things I do for you, huh? Come here, come here.” He rolls them to the side so he can wrap his arms more comfortably around her, brush his fingers along the dip in her lower back, finds her dimples there. “You feel good?” he asks her softly. “This was ok?”

“Yeah,” Clarke runs her fingers down his chest, through both of their sweat that’s gathered there. “I actually think this is what I need. We’ve never had sex like this before. It’s nice, just being close to you like this.”

“I like it too,” Bellamy assures her. “Damn, Clarke, I like everything we do together.” He chuckles and pulls her back into another kiss, no intention behind it other than to make her giggle when he turns it playful and won’t quit giving her short, sweet kisses when she angles them for something dirtier.

They spend the rest of the afternoon in bed. It’s been so long since they’ve been able to indulge in any skin on skin contact that it almost hurts to stop touching Bellamy. From the way he keeps a hand on her neck or her shoulder, the other one tracing the skin over her ribs or back or side, he feels the same.

There’s something in Blake genes, Clarke decides, about playing with her hair. Bellamy doesn’t have the braiding dexterity that Octavia has, but he twists it around his fist, idly parts it in different ways on her head, traces the ends of it over her breasts, making her shiver. When it gets late enough that both of them are hungry, Clarke pulls Bellamy into her kitchen with her, stealing his discarded shirt to wear and they make sandwiches out of the leftover chicken Clarke has in her fridge. They eat leaning back on her counters across from each other, legs touching. Clarke finishes her sandwich first and sneaks back into Bellamy’s space, taking his last few bites from his hand and putting back down on the plate next to him.

“I was eating that,” Bellamy complains even as he wraps his arms around her and pulls her closer so there isn’t any space between them. “You feeling ignored?”

“I’m feeling lonely,” Clarke teases him and leans up for a kiss which Bellamy gives her happily, humming into her mouth. “I want to get you off.”

“Yeah?” Bellamy laughs. “Want to go back to bed?”

“No, I was thinking right here would do just fine.” Clarke pushes him back against the counter and drops down to her knees, pulling down his jeans and fisting his cock in her hand. “Been thinking about this,” she says, flicking her eyes up at him where Bellamy’s looking down at her, a little dumbstruck. His dick swells quick in her grasp, warm and hot, flushed such a pretty pink.

“Oh, Clarke, babe,” Bellamy murmurs. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Clarke laughs. “I love sucking your cock, Bellamy.”

“Ok, ok, fuck,” Bellamy says shakily. “Don’t let me stop you. Go on.”

“I forgot how bossy you are,” Clarke parrots back to him and Bellamy’s laugh turns into a groan as Clarke sucks him down insistent, fast. He tastes the same, so good and salty and rich in his musky, natural flavor. Clarke moans around him, takes him deep as she can and sucks fast and hard.

“Fuck, Clarke, fuck,” Bellamy growls above her and slides a leg between her knees out of habit, offering her something to press against. “Look at you in my shirt, getting me off. How are you so fucking sexy, huh? How are you- shit, babe, fucking insatiable, aren’t you?- How are you so good to me?” Bellamy croons down at her as Clarke pulls back to suck at the head of his cock before she plunges back down and works it into her throat. She only gags a little bit, and when she does Bellamy says the prettiest, sweetest things to her, things that encourage the soft, hot glow in her stomach.

She sucks him hard and fast, can’t be bothered to take her time when she knows she can do this whenever she wants now, that there’ll be time for making Bellamy lose his mind over slow suction and hot, slick touches later. Now, she just wants him to come. She remembers the tricks that get him there fast: her tongue lashing under the head of his cock, eyes on his face, moaning when she takes him down deep and swallowing around his cock. Bellamy’s a growling, cursing mess in no time, holding her hair out of the way so he can see better. He comes when she teases her fingers over his balls and rolls them in her palm, giving him a hard suck at the same time. 

“Get up here,” Bellamy says, already hauling her up. “Jesus, Clarke, the mouth on you.” She lets him kiss the taste of his cum from her mouth before he’s reversing their positions, backing her up into the island counter and lifting her onto it in an effortless way that makes Clarke a little crazy about him. “You going to let me go down on you, babe?” 

Clarke tugs his mouth back against hers. “You can fuck me again if you want,” she murmurs, stroking his cock to keep him hard.

“I’m planning to,” Bellamy promises her, “But I want to fuck you with my tongue first. Can I, Clarke? Can I get my mouth on your pretty cunt?”

“Alright,” Clarke whispers as Bellamy pushes his shirt up her thighs. 

“Hey,” Bellamy says gently, catching her chin softly for a moment even as his fingers sneak lightly up her thigh. “Even if you don’t think you’re going to get off from it, I still want to if it’ll make you feel good. Just until you make that noise for me, the one where it sounds like you’re going to cry from how much you like my tongue on your clit. Then I’ll fuck you, ok?”

Clarke is laughing and pulling Bellamy back to kiss her before he’s even finished speaking, his fingers teasing through the slick of her cunt that’s gathered high on her inner thighs. “I forgot how much you liked going down on me.” 

“Well, any time you need reminding,” Bellamy says, low and rough, fisting a hand tight into the hair at the base of her skull. “You just let me know.” Then he’s crouched on the floor between her legs, grinning at her and giving her cunt a kiss hello.

Clarke has to pull him up by the ears, in the end, hands shaking, body keyed up from the way Bellamy is relentlessly sweet on her clit, feeling so close to coming but not able to get there. “Please just fuck me,” Clarke begs against his slick lips. “Please, I can’t stand it.”

Bellamy’s laugh is a little hoarse and his eyes are a pretty blown with arousal, but he gives her just what she wants.

**

“You owe me brunch,” Octavia says by way of greeting when Clarke picks up her phone on Sunday morning, still half asleep and Bellamy’s arm tossed over her waist.

“Yeah but it’s early,” Clarke whines, “we were out so late last night.”

“No,” Octavia corrects her happily. “Only until like eleven. Whatever you did after that to make you think that ten am is early is the reason you owe me brunch.”

“Okay, okay,” Clarke yawns and sits up, grinning when Bellamy tightens his arm around her and shifts closer to put his nose into her hip, snuffling at her in his sleep. Clarke strokes a hand over his hair. “Where did you want to go?”

“Where we always go, Founding Fathers. Raven’s coming too.”

“Alright, I’ll be there in like, thirty minutes.”

Clarke drops her phone down on the bed and snuggles back down so that she can bite Bellamy’s nose until he opens his eyes, a little grumpily. “S’early,” he complains but shifts his head to kiss her.

Bellamy manages to waylay her long enough that Clarke has to scramble to pull her dress on and steals one of Bellamy’s button downs to wear over it to make it a little more weekend casual. She takes an uber instead of the metro as she had hoped to and just manages to make it before crossing the line into ‘ridiculously late’ territory.

Raven and Octavia are already at a table and they’ve been nice enough to order her coffee as well, which Clarke nearly spills on herself in her haste to caffeinate. 

“Jesus, Clarke,” Raven laughs, leaning forward. “That’s a stride of pride look if I’ve ever seen one. Who’d you go home with last night?”

Clarke glances at Octavia carefully, who just cocks her eyebrow back at her, nonchalantly. “Clarke has some news, Raven.” 

Clarke shakes her head, kind of wishes she could have told Raven this on her own. It’s not nearly as complicated as with Octavia, but Raven is Gina’s friend.

“Uh, Bellamy actually,” Clarke says, eyes on the table and when she looks up, Raven is nodding slowly, eyebrows drawn as they are when she’s thinking.

“Really?” she drawls and glances at Octavia, who just shrugs.

“Apparently they’re a thing,” Octavia says as lightly as Octavia can say anything. “I didn’t know until Wednesday.”

“Huh. When did that happen?” Raven asks Clarke. 

“It’s kinda been happening,” Clarke says looking at her menu. “Um, not when Gina was with Bellamy, obviously. But before that, for a while. And since New Hampshire.”

Raven cocks her head at Clarke. “I thought you were with… Oh. Bill. Bell-amy. Clever.” And then she frowns. “But... you said things didn’t end well with him. Wait, Clarke,” Raven says, leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed. “You were a wreck after that. I remember, you looked awful for like… what, six weeks?”

“Yeah, more or less,” Clarke says. “I don’t know, I told Octavia this, but we just had some pretty terrible timing. Bellamy couldn’t say how he felt to my face, and I thought…” she trails off because this is where it gets complicated. This is where her friends and the whole issue of keeping secrets gets tricky. There’s no part of her that blames Octavia or Raven for what fell apart between her and Bellamy, but phrased wrong, it could easily sound that way. It could easily reopen Octavia’s doubt of Clarke’s trust in her. 

Clarke shakes her head. “He wrote me a letter which I didn’t find for two months. So, I called things off because I thought I was alone in what I was feeling. And I managed to phrase that poorly so… basically we both thought the other was being a huge dick.”

“Oh my god,” Octavia says, covering her face. “Bellamy would write a fucking letter about how he felt. Jesus.”

“Wait,” Raven says, “When did this happen?”

“Right before Christmas,” Clarke says quietly. 

“Wasn’t that…” Raven looks at Octavia. “That was when you and I first tried to set Gina up with Bellamy, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Octavia says slowly. “And Bellamy was such a fucking…” she trails off and stares at Clarke. “I told you what he said, didn’t I?” Octavia asks. “Oh my God, Clarke. I told you that he had that reaction to me trying to set him up.”

Clarke nods.

“Jesus,” Raven says. “Clarke, I remember that. You looked like you were going to faint, you were that pale.” 

“It was stupid,” Clarke says, looking down at her hands but Raven reaches out and catches her hand on the table. “I should have just talked to him anyway.”

“So basically,” Raven says slowly, “Octavia and I accidentally screwed up whatever thing you had going on with Bellamy and made you both miserable for two months. Christ,” Raven says, looking pained. “Best friends of the year over here.”

“I mean,” Clarke says, squeezing Raven’s hand. “If Bellamy and I had just managed to have an adult conversation instead of writing each other letters and vaguely talking about feelings, none of this would have happened. It all got fucked up, but in the end, it’s not really anyone’s fault.”

Octavia snorts suddenly and then looks horrified and covers her face. “I’m sorry,” she says even as she’s starting to giggle. “I’m just imagining Bellamy writing a love letter. I’m sorry, it’s just… it’s so fucking typical.”

Clarke bites back her smile and nods. Suddenly it’s kind of funny.

“Oh my God,” Octavia says, giggling into her hands, “Clarke, shit I’m sorry I know that must have sucked but, but oh my god. I’m never going to let him live that down.”

“Honestly it was really sweet,” Clarke says, suddenly having to fight down her laughter as well. “When I found it two months later.” 

Raven is pressing back a grin when Clarke looks at her and then all of a sudden, the three of them are laughing uncontrollably into their coffee. 

“Unbelievable,” Raven says when she catches her breath. “But Clarke, babe, I am sorry we messed things up for you. I know… well, basically you looked like absolute shit, so I know it wasn’t fun.”

Clarke shrugs, still grinning. “No, it fucking sucked, but… thanks. It wasn’t your fault, at all it was just how it played out. And Bellamy and I got a lot of practice having mature adult conversations in the end. Well mostly mature. I think they’re mature.”

“Knowing you?” Raven asks. “Probably not. But, here’s to you two idiots, I guess,” she raises her coffee mug and Clarke and Octavia raise theirs as well. “To being completely ridiculous and giving each other a second chance. That’s pretty awesome I guess.”

“Thanks,” Clarke says clinking her mug to Raven’s. “And here’s to us. I really love you guys a lot.”

“Love you too, Clarke. And again, I’m sorry about Gina. I mean, I’m not sorry about Gina, because she’s awesome, but you know.”

“Gina was great,” Clarke says. “I’m just sorry she got caught up in the middle of this shit show.”

Raven shrugs. “Gina’s tough. She’s going to go on to have amazing epic adventures around the world and have really extra romances. I know she’s ok. So is there anything else we need to cover before we just accept Bellamy has some ridiculous game for being a nerd and move on?”

“Hey,” Octavia snaps, “That’s my brother you’re talking about. Although he is a nerd. Whatever, Clarke, we love you, and Bellamy is the Trey to your much cooler Abby.”

“Oh, I’m not sure I love that,” Clarke says, making a face. “He doesn’t say ‘Bazinga’ when he sees my tits.”

“Jesus, Clarke!” Octavia fumes but she’s laughing. “You’re already breaking rule one: no sex stories.”

“That’s an anti-sex story,” Clarke protests and she’s laughing as well and Raven is grinning, sharp and happy at her. “That’s allowed isn’t it?”

“No.” Octavia grins. “Nope, nothing with your tits and Bellamy’s potential reaction at all. Raven,” Octavia says, making a show of turning her shoulder to Clarke but she’s watching her with an open grin, happy despite of her playacting. “Give me all the deets of your sex life.”

“Oh, you know,” Raven says, “Roan’s cool and good looking and has a big dick. I met his little sister, she’s crazy, like him. I like it.”

“You met his family?” Clarke asks, surprised. “Wick didn’t make it that far.”

“Yeah, I know. It was by accident. She came by once when I was hanging out at his place. She’s a grade school teacher. I don’t think she should be, I don’t get the feeling she likes kids all that much.”

“You always find the weird ones,” Clarke teases her.

“Clarke, we’ve now dated and slept with TWO of same people,” Raven says, throwing Clarke’s words from September back at her. “You can’t insult my taste in men.”

“Don’t remember that ever stopping you before,” Clarke snarks.

“Anyway,” Raven says with a smirk. “It’s casual. Ok, what are we eating?”

They split the special pancakes three ways and share sides of bacon, hash browns and a seasonal fruit bowl Octavia had eyed at the table next to them. They get mimosas and drink too much coffee like they always do and then, because it’s beautiful out and don’t have anything planned for the rest of the day, wander around outside, do some boutique shopping, find a park and lay out on the grass. 

Octavia rests her head on Clarke’s stomach and talks with her hands, drags Clarke’s hand to her hair to get a head rub. Raven sits next to them and makes daisy chains, laughing and dropping grass on Clarke’s forehead until she bats her away. 

Clarke hadn’t realized how heavy keeping her secret about Bellamy had been weighing on her until she’s giggling uncontrollably and feeling happier and freer with her friends than she has felt in a long time. Octavia’s grin is sharp, Raven’s eyes are bright and sparkling and Clarke loves them more than she feels capable of containing. She buys them ice cream as they walk back toward the metro station and when Octavia hugs her tightly goodbye, the last missing piece settles in Clarke’s chest.

**

They have a lot of sex. Morning sex, afternoon sex, middle of the night sex, honestly any time Clarke can get Bellamy in her, she wants him. Clarke still hasn’t been able to come with him there, but neither of they let themselves get frustrated by it, not when it gives Bellamy an excuse to take as long as he wants when he’s fucking Clarke, fingers grazing over her clit as he alternates fucking her fast and hard with slow, deep thrusts. Not when Clarke can slide a hand down Bellamy’s neck while he’s working and have him look up at her, eyes instantly hot and dark. 

Clarke still likes to ride Bellamy, likes to make him hold on to her hips while she grips his headboard and grinds down on him, watching his face and grinning when he gets frustrated and takes back over. She’s not breakable and likes that he flips her over fast and hard when he wants more, fucks into her and leaves bruises on her hips while he growls into her ear all the filthy hot things that make Clarke wild.

They play around with Clarke’s vibrators, using both her long green one and her small lilac one, and that’s great but still gets too overwhelming without getting her off to the point Bellamy has to calm her down by holding Clarke’s wrists into the mattress as he fucks her slow and careful, letting her kiss him until she quiets. 

He fucks her on her side, nosing at the back of her neck, letting her bury her face in the pillows, but she doesn’t like that one as much, not when if feels like she’s hiding from him. So they end up flipped around, face to face, with Clarke’s leg hooked up over Bellamy’s elbow as she rocks down onto his cock resting her forehead against his, both of them swallowing the other’s harsh, panting breaths.

Bellamy doesn’t quit going down on her, in fact he probably goes down on Clarke more often now. He’s different about it though. Before, he gave it to her rough and fast because Clarke would pull at his hair, lock her legs around his face and beg him for it. Now, when Clarke coming is an abstract goal they’re working toward and intimacy and simply enjoying each other the immediate outcome, he’s softer about it. 

It drives Clarke a little crazy at first, trying to get him to be rough with her the way that got her off, even though after ten minutes of it she’s worked up and frustrated, tears stinging her eyes and shaking helplessly with how badly she wants to come but stuck just short of it. It’s still a good option for them now and then: Bellamy will be on his way out the door and push her down into the couch, give it to her hard and fast and mean with his tongue quick and sure on her, fingers grinding into her, then wipe his mouth, pat her on the leg and make her promise to finish herself off for him, staying just long enough to see her start. That’s still fun, but Clarke misses Bellamy when he’s gone.

More often now, Bellamy takes his time. He still loves on her clit, still tongues at her and sucks at her in ways that make Clarke’s body arch off the bed and her toes curl, but he makes it slow. He gives her long, flat-tongued licks, dips his tongue inside her, strokes his fingers lightly over her sensitive breasts and sides. Clarke finds that when she relaxes into it, closes her eyes and lets Bellamy go as long as he wants to, something else grows inside her. It’s not the same as the white-out, all consuming orgasms she had before, but Bellamy’s soft attentions shiver through her body, make her feel floaty and high with building, sweet pleasure that never becomes unbearable, but leaves Clarke feeling like she could stay there under Bellamy’s mouth indefinitely. 

Bellamy always pulls off her before she gets too overwhelmed by it, sometimes lingers on her clit for a while before he does, testing carefully to see if he can get her off when she’s blissed out but never pushing when she doesn’t. After, he slides up her body and fucks her careful and slow, lets her cling to him and whimper into his mouth and neck as he swears reverently into her hair.

When they aren’t having sex, they still do their work together, still cook together, still watch old movies while Clarke throws popcorn at Bellamy’s head and it gets stuck in his hair. She’ll swing by Bellamy’s office after she has her weekly meetings with Kane (and they actively ignore the fact that he’s dating Clarke’s mom for an hour) and they sit out on the grass in the quad in between Bellamy’s classes. Sometimes Bellamy drops by the artshop and leans on the counter next to Clarke, him and Lincoln bickering light heartedly and Clarke laughing until her stomach is sore. 

Clarke figures now that she’s told Raven and Bellamy’s told Miller, it’s only a matter of time before all their friends know. And she prefers it that way: she’s never been big on making huge statements and even as sure as she is about her and Bellamy, publically announcing it seems strange. They don’t suddenly make their facebook relationship statuses public, she doesn’t fill her instagram with photos of them together, except for the one of Bellamy with a whipped cream mustache, they don’t really change their behavior all that much around their friends when they’re hanging out in their larger group. They sit closer together perhaps, sometimes Bellamy’s hand finds her lower back, just a soft brush of his fingers, connecting them. That’s kind of it though, beyond that, their shift in dynamic is so personal and so subtle there’s no real reason that their friends would pick up on it unless they knew what they were looking for.

Inevitably, they all end up at DropShip. The music’s loud, the base of it thrumming through Clarke’s bones as they lean at their favorite table. Octavia’s bought them their first round, a new brew the bar is featuring called “Chip Frier” which Raven is instantly a fan of.

“Ok, but,” Jasper is saying to their group, “I’m saying New Hampshire 2.0. I’m talking about an August get away, but like to Florida.”

“Florida is lame,” Monty protests. “Everyone goes there. We should go to Maine, it’ll be cooler. And prettier.”

“I don’t know,” Miller muses and holds up his hands up in defense when Monty mock glares at him. “I’m just saying, I don’t like seafood. Maine only has seafood.”

“Yeah, well,” Murphy says dryly, “seafood doesn’t like you, Miller.”

“Fuck you, Murphy.” 

“Nah, I’m too funny to shut up,” Murphy says and then pushes away from the table. “Ok, this EDM isn’t going to dance to itself. I’m finding Emori, she’s cooler than you guys anyway.”

“She’s pretty cool,” Raven admits. “Come on, Clarke. Dance with me.” Raven catches Clarke and Octavia’s hands and draw them out into the crowd, leaving the boys and Monroe at the table. Something upbeat is blasting, women’s vocals and a dropped beat and strings. It feels good to dance, caught up in the flashing lights and the movement of bodies around them, it’s been a while since Clarke’s gotten a chance to, and with Raven and Octavia, it’s nice to let go.

She’s vaguely aware of more of their friends joining them, Monty and Miller dancing to their right, Lincoln curling his hand around Octavia’s jaw for a kiss, Raven making eyes at someone across the dance floor. 

When a hand settles lightly at her waist, Clarke stiffens, turns to politely untangle herself from whoever’s making a move on her, but then Bellamy noses down the line of her neck and slips his finger under the strap of Clarke’s tank on her shoulder. “Hey,” he says, grinning into her neck.

Clarke laughs, loops her hand back to curl around the nape of Bellamy’s neck, sees Octavia watching them with an amused, fond expression even as she does so. “And here I thought,” Clarke teases him when she turns her head to look up at him. “That you had too much class to dance at a place like this.”

“Aw, Clarke,” Bellamy huffs, “I couldn’t leave you out here on your own looking so good.”

“Noble,” Clarke snarks but she leans back into him, lets him follow the soft move of her body to the beat. Bellamy sneaks his hand around to press into her stomach, keeps his fingers light and sweet on her shoulder, just brushing the soft skin there. 

“Besides,” Bellamy murmurs after a while, “dancing with you is always classy.”

“Oh my god, Bellamy,” Clarke laughs, twisting in Bellamy’s arms. “What a line.”

Miller and Monty are grinning at them, and Raven cat calls them loudly as Bellamy rolls his eyes and drags Clarke’s mouth up to kiss her. Turns out that when she kisses him on the dancefloor, Bellamy’s mouth tastes like sharp hops and caramel from his beer, and underneath that, cool and sweet, like he always does.

“Excuse me,” Murphy says, dropping his hands heavily on both of their shoulders when Bellamy lets her pull back. He looks back and forth between them gravely. “I’d just like to take this moment to say I fucking called it.”

“Shut up, Murphy.”

**

There’s a warm, late May breeze that comes in softly from Bellamy’s opened window and lifts wisps of Clarke’s hair where she’s sprawled lazily on his couch. 

“That’s pretty good,” Bellamy says, leaning over her shoulder to look down at Clarke’s sketch pad, where she’s been working on a sketch of Lincoln. “Can you draw me like that from memory?”

She can, but Bellamy likes to pretend to be jealous and Clarke likes to let him. “Aw, worried? You probably should be, I’m madly in love with him and we’re planning to run away together.”

“Knew it,” Bellamy mutters. “I knew he was trouble.” He leans over the back of the couch and gathers Clarke’s loose hair, brushes it over her left shoulder and gives her a string of open mouthed kisses down the nape of her neck.

Clarke closes her eyes and leans forward to let him. “That’s nice,” she tells him, reaching back to touch his cheek.

“Yeah?” Bellamy laughs. “Good. I had a thought, babe.”

“A sex thought?” Clarke asks, tilting her head to the side as Bellamy moves to mouth at her shoulder. His laugh rumbles into her skin.

“Yeah, a sex thought.” Bellamy tells her. He joins her on the couch and she shifts to stick her feet in his lap, still sketching but smiling up at him in encouragement. “You know when we were talking in your kitchen, right before we told O about us?”

“Yeah, you were driving me crazy with how much I wanted to fuck you,” Clarke laughs and Bellamy huffs and squeezes her foot.

“Went both ways, Clarke. Do you remember what you told me?”

“Beyond wanting to fuck you?” Clarke says looking up at him again. She flips the page over on her half finished sketch of Lincoln and starts a quick one of Bellamy, just because he looks so good with his messy hair and tight undershirt, too lazy to put on more clothes.

“Well yeah, that. But you also told me how you got off thinking about me. And I was thinking, that was a huge thing for me. Like, the fact that I was so good to you that the memory of it could make you come… shit. Drives me a bit crazy even now,” Bellamy chuckles and squeezes her foot.

“So, you’re telling me this because you’re ego’s gotten bigger again? Just let me know when we need to take you in for an adjustment,” Clarke teases him even as she turns her pad around for Bellamy to see the drawing she’s done of him, fast lines but undeniably him. He looks delighted, as he always does when she draws him and works his thumb into the arch of her foot where she gets sore.

“I was thinking,” Bellamy continues, “that it might work in the other direction. Like, if I could show you how much the idea of you coming turned me on, maybe it’ll help us out.”

“Huh,” Clarke says, putting aside her pad and scooching down the couch so she can get closer to Bellamy without pulling her foot away. “Interesting. So you’d jack yourself off and I’d watch.” The thought actually makes Clarke’s mouth go a little dry. She loves when Bellamy peacocks a bit, it always gets her hot, that alpha male thing.

“Yeah, I mean, if you’re into it,” Bellamy says with a shrug.

“Hmm, getting to watch you get off while you think about how hot I am? Yeah, I can see having a lot of objections to that,” Clarke says with a mostly straight face and laughs when Bellamy rolls his eyes and pulls on her ankle to get her into his lap. “When are we doing this?” Clarke asks, looping her arms around his neck and kissing his forehead.

“Whenever you want,” Bellamy says, nuzzling at her neck. “Or right now.”

“Right now sounds pretty good.”

“Does, doesn’t it?” Bellamy nibbles lightly at her chin and runs a hand down her thigh, thumbs at her knee through her leggings. “Gimme a kiss first, huh?” Clarke rolls her eyes and ducks her head so that Bellamy can kiss her slow and gentle. He cups her cheek and fits his pinky in along the line of her jaw, thumb giving her a quick tap when he pulls back. “So sweet,” he tells her. “Never going to get over your mouth, Clarke. Come on, up you go.”

Clarke slides off his lap and happily lets him herd her toward his bedroom. He pulls her to kiss him again standing at the foot of the bed, then sets his hands on her shoulders and makes her step back so he can strip down quick and fast and settle himself up against the headboard. He lets his legs sprawl open and palms his cock, half hard already as he tilts his head at her, inviting.

Clarke crawls on the bed and sits next to his knee, trails her fingers over the delicate skin on the underside of it and Bellamy’s leg twitches, his cock jerks in his hand, growing harder. “You look good like this,” Clarke tells him, because he does. He’s fucked her several times when she’s stripped down to nothing and he’s done nothing more than get his pants open, and Clarke loves that, but this nice too. Seeing Bellamy bare and already a little flushed as he looks at her, cock in his hand as she sits next to him, still clothed… yeah, there’s a vulnerability there that makes her hungry.

“Not thinking about how good I look,” Bellamy says. “Here, get out of that shirt for me, yeah?”

Clarke obliges and pulls her tee over her head, pulls off her bra for good measure, and then when Bellamy scoots over and opens his arm to her, Clarke tucks herself under Bellamy’s left arm, giggling. “There’s my girl,” Bellamy grins, leaning in to kiss her, fist speeding up on his cock. “Mmm,” Bellamy murmurs, pulling back and giving her a hot look. “There you are.”

“Why not ‘Princess’, anymore?” Clarke asks him idly, teasing her fingers across his stomach. Bellamy cocks his head at her. “I mean, you used to call me that all the time.”

Bellamy chuckles. “Did you like that?”

“Only when you were getting me off. It was kind of hot then,” Clarke admits. 

“Yeah, it’s not really you anymore though, huh?” Bellamy muses, hand slowing a bit. “It’s not how I think of you.”

“Really?” Clarke laughs. “I’m not royalty to you, as your girlfriend?”

“Such a fucking attitude, Clarke,” Bellamy complains, even as he grins at her. He loves when she refers to herself as his girlfriend. He twines his fingers in her hair, tugs her closer against his chest. He’s stroking himself firm and slow, steady in the slide of his hand up and down his cock. The head of it is shiny with precum and every few times he reaches the tip of his cock, he swipes his thumb through it. It makes Clarke’s mouth water, watching him, wants to touch him but keeps her hands to herself.

“When I first met you,” Bellamy says softly, breath still even and measured. “You were this gorgeous, bossy girl, you know? My sister’s best friend and the only other person she’d ever let close before. I felt so fucking threatened by you. You were so untouchable, Clarke, with the way you held yourself, the way you spoke, the way you looked at me like you thought you were fucking royalty. I thought you were awful,” Bellamy laughs and Clarke swats at him.

“Really great story, Bellamy, thanks,” she huffs in amusement and Bellamy rubs at her arm, chuckling.

“Well, I didn’t know you,” Bellamy says, amused.

“I know,” Clarke laughs. She interlaces their fingers and leans closer, putting her nose in his shoulder. “Keep going.”

“It took us a while, but we got friendly, didn’t we? You weren’t so bad, and I could see why Octavia liked you so much, but you still kept yourself so composed around me, you only ever really opened up to O or Raven, I could only get you talking if I got you riled up about something. I just thought that was going to be it between us, you were a nice person, but someone I would never really get to know personally. Called you Princess ‘cause you didn’t like it, and it stuck, even when we started hooking up.”

“You’re a jerk,” Clarke laughs and kisses slowly along the warm skin of his chest.

“Sure. A jerk who you slept with.”

“Get to the part where you think I’m hot,” Clarke requests and Bellamy chuckles, guiding her mouth up to his so he can kiss her, slow and easy and then pulls her back again, keeping her tucked into his arm but not distracting him.

“Babe, where to start? You know, I knew I was going to be hooked on you the first time I made you come. Very first time. Remember? You looked so good, babe.” His hips jerk a bit under his fist and Clarke watches him squeeze his fist tighter, shorten his strokes to focus around the head of his cock. “Sounded so good, felt so fucking good around my fingers. Damn, Clarke… there you were, all hot and desperate and gorgeous for me. And I had given you that. Made you feel like that. Do you know how amazing that was? It was like I found this other side of you. I’ve never wanted to get a girl off again that bad in my life.”

Bellamy’s dick is flushed a deeper red under his hand and Clarke can’t help but tease her fingers over his stomach again, her knuckles brushing his hand and Bellamy laughs, turns his head to kiss her, mouth loose under her own, breath catching a bit. It sparks something in Clarke, deep down, a warm glow. 

“That’s what I loved about making you come, Clarke,” Bellamy breathes against her mouth. “It’s the first way I got to know _you_. I mean, at first, yeah, I just wanted to fuck you because you were hot and eager and so fucking good, but I got to know you, babe. All of you, and you’re so much, so real. I love knowing you, learning about you, what makes you tick, what makes you laugh. You make me better, huh? You make me want to be so good to you, good to myself. You kind of tear me up, you know? I go a little crazy when I’m around you. And when you come… babe, I could see that I did the same thing to you.

“You know how hot that is? How incredible it feels to know that I’ve gotten to you the way you have to me? That’s what I love about your face when you come, babe. You just look… look like how I feel about you. Like you can’t control how good you feel, how good I make you feel. And that’s crazy, shit, it’s crazy. I never knew I could make anyone look like that. I’ve never really wanted to make anyone else look like that. But you get me going, huh?”

Clarke tears her eyes away from the way Bellamy’s cock is blurting percum in his hand to look up at his face, the way his brow is creased, eyes half closed at the memory of her, a flush on his cheeks. He looks so good, so fucking hot that Clarke has to lean up, kiss the corner of his mouth. He turns to kiss her more fully, mouth open under hers, trying to catch his breath in heavy pants.

It’s dirty and hot and it sends a zing of sharp arousal straight down to where the warmth in her stomach is pooling. It’s electrifying and at the same time completely contented, completely elated, a different kind of arousal than Clarke’s felt before. She’s not sure if it’s because of Bellamy’s own open, sweet vulnerability in this moment, or his deep reverence for her pleasure, but Clarke suddenly needs to touch herself, desperately. But she can’t bring herself to move her hand from Bellamy’s stomach or unlace her hand from Bellamy’s, this connection too much for her to let go.

“Bellamy,” she whines against his mouth. “Tell me more.”

“Yeah?” Bellamy chuckles a bit. “Yeah, yeah, ok. Your face Clarke, when you come? Sometimes when I didn’t see you for a few days, I would just picture the way you bit your lip right before you came, or the way your mouth went all soft right in the middle of it. The way you flushed with how good you felt. The noises you made, oh fuck, babe. Um,” Bellamy stutters, and has to press his face into her hair. “And then when you’re coming down, the way you look at me, like I’m the only person you want to see? Shit, shit, fuck, Clarke. Everything about the way you got off was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Oh babe, I can’t wait to see it again. I can’t wait to get you there again…” Bellamy trails off which a soft, broken whine and when Clarke drops her fingers to graze just the base of his dick, Bellamy jerks and comes with a hushed swear, cum spurting and hitting his chest, his stomach, pooling around his fingers as he gives himself the last few strokes to see himself through it and shit, but it’s beautiful. Clarke wiggles a bit so she can see his face, usually something she misses when it’s pressed into her skin.

Bellamy looks so fucking hot, brows creased, mouth red and swollen, cheeks blotchy, hair sticking to his forehead just a bit. Suddenly Clarke can’t help it, she has to touch herself, she has to, because she wants to come with Bellamy right here next to her, gentle and sweet the way his breath is still whining a bit in his throat at the thought of her.

Clarke wipes her fingers on the sheets and then undoes the button of her jeans, pushes them down her legs and slips her fingers into her panties, finds herself wet and hot and whines a bit as she settles her fingers on her clit. Bellamy blinks his eyes open, hazy and the crooked smile he gives her only fuels the hot, wanting feeling her stomach.

“Hey,” she whispers to him. “You feel good?”

“Around you? Always,” Bellamy chuckles. His eyes drop to where her hand is working her clit, rubbing quick and fast and hard, not much finesse or teasing because fuck, Clarke just wants to get off. Thinks she can, especially when Bellamy inhales sharp and quick at the sight. “Oh yeah, babe?” He says like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen. “Really?”

“Uh-huh,” Clarke whispers, “I think so.” Bellamy reaches to grab tissues next to him and gives himself a quick, perfunctory wipe down and then rolls to lie on his stomach next to her kisses her slowly, right under her breast.

When Clarke glances down at him, he’s still got that fucked-out, soft look in his eyes and when he smiles at her, gentle and encouraging it makes Clarke’s breath hitch, makes her work her clit a little more desperately as her heart thuds in her chest. God, but she loves this man.

Clarke slides down the bed so she can rest her head against the pillows and Bellamy glides his fingers just light and teasing over her stomach, up between her breasts, over her nipples feather light, just giving her a little added sensation to focus on. It feels so good and Clarke turns her head to look at him again where he’s resting against the pillows next to her. He stares back and there’s nothing but adoration in his gaze, nothing but love and hope and contentment at being here with her that it makes Clarke whine.

“It’s alright,” Bellamy murmurs. “You got it, Clarke. Easy, give it to yourself slow, huh? No need to rush.”

He’s still a bit flushed and Clarke can see the sight of his pulse still jumping in his neck. God, the thought of her did that to him. How beautiful and incredible is that? She feels sorta smug about it, over the rising hungry pleasure in her body. Feels so good knowing that she has that effect on Bellamy. That’s how he feels too, she reminds herself, when she comes. He feels proud and happy and loves making her feel good, feels connected to her. How, nearly five months later, her can still recount the face she makes from memory and it still gets to him. She just saw the tangible, inarguable proof of it. She closes her eyes and takes a slow deep breath and thinks about the way his voice stuttered over her name, thinks about what it means to him when she comes, and suddenly she’s right there, so fucking close.

“Oh my god,” Clarke gasps. “Oh my god, Bellamy.”

“Yeah, Clarke, shit, there you go, babe. There you go,” Bellamy whispers and his fingers ghost over her mouth, just tracing her full lower lip where she’s caught it in her teeth and it’s just that flutter of a kiss, his finger on her mouth that does it. It catches her by surprise, how intense it is, the way her body bows off the bed, her clit pulsing under her fingers, the way her cunt clenches desperately around nothing. She tears her eyes open because she needs to see Bellamy and when she looks at him, there’s nothing but awe and pride in his eyes as he watches her. When he catches her eye, Bellamy grins, wide and goofy, the smile he gets when he’s really, truly happy. There’s no hint of anything close to ridicule in his gaze and it makes Clarke shudder as she comes down.

“Good girl,” Bellamy breathes as he strokes her cheek. “Oh, Clarke, that was so beautiful. That was so good, huh? Do you feel good, babe?”

She nods, trying to catch her breath, slowly pulling her hand from her underwear as Bellamy kisses her shoulder and neck and collarbone, soft and light with a sweetness that makes Clarke’s heart ache and her stomach flip again. Bellamy catches her wrist and pulls her hand up to his mouth, takes her pointer and middle fingers into his mouth and licks them clean. He hums at her taste and then leans over further to kiss her. “So gorgeous,” he murmurs against her mouth. “Did so well, babe. Love that. Love you.”

Clarke laughs against his mouth, keeping him close and kissing him sloppily, moaning when he teases his tongue against hers. When he starts to pull away, Clarke makes an unhappy noise and Bellamy chuckles.

“You’re alright. Here, just going to clean you up. Not going anywhere, don’t you worry.” Bellamy kisses down her body, playful and sweet, slips a hand under her lower back to get her hips off the bed and manages to get her panties off her legs as he kisses at her hipbones. He settles between her legs and groans. “Clarke, babe. You smell so good.” He rubs her thighs to get her to spread open just a bit more, then he gives her his tongue, gentle in the way he laves at her, not necessarily intending to arouse, just cleaning her slick arousal from her thighs and outer lips.

Bellamy thumbs her open carefully and gives her long flat licks, sucks slow and thorough at her labia, one at a time and then presses a gentle kiss to Clarke’s clit once he’s finished. She’s still sensitive and trembling with the aftershocks of her orgasm and the feeling of Bellamy’s lips right there make her gasp and arch, hands dropping to his head, gripping his hair.

He looks up at her, still nuzzling, keeping his mouth soft on her still. “Can I?” he asks against her cunt, breath fluttering warm over her. “Can I make you come?”

“Yes, Bellamy,” Clarke whispers and Bellamy makes a hot, pleased sound, pulls her clit into his mouth and sucks long and certain at her, pulsing draws of his mouth that feel so good. He teases his tongue in circles around her clit, making Clarke twitch and moan, grab at him. “Bellamy.”

“Yeah babe, yeah,” Bellamy encourages, “there you go, let me give this to you.” He sets his tongue flat against her clit and shakes his head back and forth quickly, rubs down and punishingly at the same time with the strength of his tongue. The combined vibration and dirty rub of it send Clarke up fast and quick, voice lost in her panting and Bellamy sinks two fingers into her presses searchingly up and then rubs right and true into her and Clarke gasps and gasps and comes.

“Fuck, fuck,” Clarke cries, body shaking, the hard rush of pleasure making her muscles seize and she thrashes, overwhelmed, barely able to stand the pleasure of Bellamy’s growl into her, his insistent tongue keeping her up, up, up, until it’s too much, and Clarke is shuddering out his name in desperate gasps.

“Bellamy, I need you to fuck me. Please, please, I need to feel your cock,” Clarke begs, grasping at him and Bellamy scrambles for a condom but Clarke catches him. “I started um, I’m on birth control, I don’t care. Come on.”

Bellamy barely hesitates before he’s over her body, lining his cock up carefully and then sinking into her and groaning at the feeling of going bare. Clarke shivers as well, looping her arms around his neck and hooking her legs around his hips. It’s so intense, so much more immediate: he feels that much more hot and smooth and close inside her and Clarke claws at his back, pulls him to kiss her mouth.

“Babe, babe,” Bellamy whines over her, “God, your cunt after you come, Clarke. The way you feel around my cock? There’s nothing else like it, you feel that good.” Clarke whimpers, rocking down to meet the way he’s fucking into her, clit dragging along his pubic bone, clenching down desperately around his cock because she wants to come again. Wants to come on Bellamy’s dick as he grinds filthy-right inside of her. Bellamy brushes the hair out of her face, offers her his fingers to suck on and Clarke latches on gratefully.

“Aw, pretty girl,” Bellamy moans, “Oh fuck, Clarke. Fuck, I’m not going to last, babe.” He thrusts harder, deeper and god, it’s so good, it’s just what Clarke needs, The hard slap of his balls against her, the bump of his cock deep inside her cunt, god she’s going to come _again_ , feels her body primed for it.

“Oh babe, is that another one for me? I can feel you, Clarke,” Bellamy breathes, awed and hot and viciously happy. “I can feel your cunt get so sweet and good for me, huh?” When she can only whimper around his fingers Bellamy groans, pulls his hand away so he can kiss her, sloppy and greedy, reaches down to tweak one of her nipples and yeah, she’s so close.

“Please, please,” Clarke whispers even though she’s not quite sure what she’s asking for other than to be able to come again and Bellamy groans.

“I know, Clarke. Jesus, fuck, look at me. Yes,” he growls when she does. “Yes, look at those eyes. Shit, Clarke. You’re too much.” He pushes her hips down into the bed so he can angle better and gives her a few shallow thrusts so he’s hitting the same spot he gets with his fingers and then grinds hard and all the way into her again, fucks into her mouth with his tongue and that’s it. Clarke feels like she’s convulsing when she comes, having Bellamy’s cock to clench around makes it that much more intense, and she has to turn her head away to keep from biting Bellamy’s tongue.

“Christ, Clarke. Christ,” Bellamy groans and fucks her harder. He comes as he bites down on her neck and it sends another shudder through her body.

Clarke feels like she’s floating, feels Bellamy settle next to her on the mattress and his large, warm hands gently touch her, smooth down her arms, over her breasts, stroke gently at her stomach and Clarke turns her head, finds the familiar crook of his neck and shoulder and nuzzles into him there, catches her breath.

Bellamy wraps his arms around her, kisses her temple gently. “So good,” he whispers. “So good to me.”

When Clarke feels like she’s a little more in control of her emotions and less teetering on the brink of uncontrollably happy, overwhelmed tears she lifts her head and kisses Bellamy, just lightly, warm and dry.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “That was amazing, Bellamy.”

“That’s my line,” Bellamy huffs. He curls a hand in her hair at the back of her head and rubs gently at her scalp. He looks up at her, eyes full of love and hope and Clarke has to kiss him again. He sighs under her mouth and bodily hauls her so that she’s draped across his chest. “We ever been able to get you off that many times in a row before?” He asks after a moment and Clarke shakes her head, listening to the soft thump of his heart in his chest.

“Don’t think so,” Clarke says softly. “But you know what that means, right?”

“Do I?” He runs his hand down her back and then back up again, repeats the soothing motion and Clarke hums at his touch.

“Probably qualifies this as nine-point-eight out of ten. On our awesome sex scale.”

Bellamy laughs, full bodied, at that and wraps his arms around her back, holding her close. “You are ridiculous, Clarke. Ok, why not ten out of ten, huh? Where’s the point-two deduction?”

“No deductions,” Clarke tells him, kissing the hollow of his throat. “Just know that this isn’t the best it’s going to get between us. In general, you know?” she adds after a beat. 

“Oh my god, Clarke,” Bellamy says like he’s trying to make fun of her, but there’s a funny note to his voice and when Clarke looks up at him, he's grinning uncontrollably up at the ceiling. “But yeah, I think I’m picking up what you’re laying down.”

“Good,” Clarke says and snuggles her head back down on his chest, content to spend the rest of the afternoon getting too hot and sweaty against Bellamy’s bare skin, letting the breeze from the open windows cool them. Bellamy’s fingers trace lazy patterns into her shoulder, trace the shell of her ear, touching her as gently as she’s ever been touched, finally finding her fingers and interlacing them over his heart. 

So this is how it continues: with them together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... First of all THANK YOU for reading Picking Up What You're Laying Down. This has been like, a huge endeavor over the last four and a half months and I'm just overwhelmed and blown away by the amazing responses I've gotten. 
> 
> To everyone who has left comments consistently or even just once or twice: Wow you guys, just, I'm so so appreciative. Your support has kept me going. So thank you. I would of course welcome any and all last bits of feedback you have.
> 
> My beta is cetaprincipessa, who basically helped birth this entire thing. She is beautiful and the most supportive. This 
> 
> One last note: 
> 
> Even though Picking Up What You're Laying Down is at an end in terms of how far I can conceivably take it, it is now part of a larger 'verse called "Hip To It", where I'll be posting one-shots with these nerds since I am emotionally unable to let them go just yet. I already have a few things planned, so please subscribe if you want notifications of these two getting it on and being stupid about each other. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading! You can find me on tumblr, where I'm always having big feelings and talking about bellarke, [here](verbam.tumblr.com)


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